


Of Swords and Bows

by Darkened_Nighteyes (Darkene_Nighteyes)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BAMF Bilbo, Friendship, M/M, Male Slash, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkene_Nighteyes/pseuds/Darkened_Nighteyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gandalf travels to the Shire to see about getting that burglar, he finds something entirely unexpected. Bilbo Baggins is not what it says on the tin and it confuses everyone. Will contain slash, rating may go up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. All rights to Tolkien, Peter Jackson and whomever else owns a piece of the Hobbit pie.

Hobbits had never been a private race. If your neighbour knew something about you, everyone knew. There were no secrets between any of the denizens of the Shire, nor was that likely to change. So when Gandalf the Grey finally arrived and asked after a Bilbo Baggins, he was surprised to see wariness and hesitation on the normally open faces. A few grumbles, soothing away the reluctance with his easy-going manner of endearing himself to people and he was given directions.

Still, as he strolled down the hill and over to where he now knew Bag End to be, he looked back. It had been curious and odd, the way these Hobbits fell quiet when speaking of the resident Baggins. And somewhere deep within, he felt a pinch of uneasiness. It was rare that Gandalf was not aware of something, especially when he felt that he ought to be. And in this case, he definitely felt that he ought to be aware of what was going on with Bilbo Baggins.

As he finally arrived, he got his first surprise. Every single hobbit hole in the Shire was surrounded by a wealth of greenery. Flowers in their front yard, neat rows of vegetables and fruit trees that were overflowing with heavy, sweet oranges, apples and peaches. But not this hobbit hole. Pausing in his steps, he leaned upon his staff to properly take in the sight that was Bag End. Rather than flowers, there was grass. Grass surrounded by a simple fence. There was a single tree to provide shade for the two ponies grazing in the enclosure, as well as a though of water in the corner. They seemed well cared for, coats gleaming in the early afternoon sunlight. In the far end of the yard, he thought he could even spy a stable where once one of the guest bedroom windows had been. And with a start he remembered that it had been his bedroom. The one Belladonna Took had arranged especially for his rare visits, with a properly sized bed and chair and wardrobe.

A huff escaped him and he continued down the road and up to the front door where the next surprise awaited him. No welcome matt lay here. No neatly cobbled path led up to the neat and round door. Instead, the entire front section had been paved. Next to the door stood a cabinet holding a pair of muddy boots and though there was a door on the thing, it was open at the moment, allowing him to see the rack holding a bow and quiver. Blinking, he tapped his staff against the door to push it open further.

“A sword?”

Indeed. A sword of questionable quality, but obviously used aplenty, hung next to the quiver, as well as a coil of rope, a lantern and various other little bits and bobs. His day was turning out more and more curious as it continued and he found himself looking at the round door that separated him from the smial he was more than familiar with. Or was once, he supposed. For if the outside was so much different from what he knew, what would the inside bring in terms of surprises, he wondered? Alas for the wizard, he was unlikely to find out today.

“Excuse me, but what are you doing?”

While he spoke quite softly, there was no mistaking the steely hint of threat behind the words. As he turned to look at the Hobbit, he realized that his posture reflected his voice. Certain of his abilities, straight backed and confident. As one golden brow rose up in question, he remembered himself and chuckled, shifting his grip around.

“Looking for you, I suppose. Bilbo Baggins?”

The nod he received was reserved. His eyes slid down from the curled hair to look at the unexpectedly simple outfit the Hobbit was wearing. No shoes, as was to be expected, but he wore a sturdy woolen pair of trousers and a linen tunic, both in colours that would be considered plain for a Hobbit, if any. Dark brown and a deep blue, they would be out of place on any Hobbit. Bilbo, however, made it work. He seemed at ease in the clothes, foot slowly tapping on the tiles as he observed the wizard. Eventually, he tightened his fingers around the basket of food he held and made a light bow. Not shallow enough to be rude, but evidently barely deep enough to be polite.

“Indeed, at your service. And you are Gandalf the Grey, I presume?”

The surprise on his face must have been amusing indeed, he supposed, as the Hobbit quirked his lips up slightly, amused. He pushed past the wizard then and unlocked his door. This, more than anything, had the wizard baffled.

“You lock your door?”

The question caused the Hobbit to stiffen as he was about to push the door open. After a moment of silence, he turned his head and offered the wizard a small smile.

“I lock my door.”

And with that, he stepped in and closed the solid wood behind him. Only a small ‘click’ told Gandalf it had been locked afterwards. With a furrow in his brow, the man stepped back and pulled a pipe from his robes. As he lit it, he puffed away pensively. While this was not the Hobbit he was expecting to find, he might be the Hobbit he needed. The bow and sword indicated that he might even be better than he had dared to hope. Though there was also the risk that he might be colder than a Hobbit ought to be. This young man seemed reserved. Private. It explained much about his reception after asking about the Hobbit, though the hows and whys confused him nonetheless.

Eventually he turned and strolled down the path of Bagshot Row and towards the Green Dragon Inn. Perhaps he would find answers there. He didn’t look back to see the narrowed green eyed gaze follow him from the kitchen window.

 

\----

 

The Green Dragon was as lively as ever, and he relaxed, smiling and laughing as he watched Seradoc Brandybuck make a fool out of himself. The lad danced around Celanda Took, singing a self-written ditty that had the girl blushing to the roots of her hair before slapping him on the shoulder and moving on to the table that held several of her girl friends. Immediately a chatter fell over the table, heads bowing and peeking out towards Seradoc every now and then as the lad in question moved back to his own friends. He was received by many a firm handshake and back pat.

Puffing on his pipe, the wizard was finally accompanied by one of the many Hobbits that had been staring at him. “Rorimac Brandybuck. You look as if you are sitting on hot coals, my lad.”

The Hobbit in question could do little more than grin sheepishly before he leaned forward ever so slightly, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Is it true, Gandalf? Did you speak with Bilbo Baggins, then?”

The wizard reared back slightly and blew out another ring of smoke. When the ring began chasing little moths around the ceiling of the Inn, the Hobbit released a soft sound of complaint.

“Gandalf, please! Everyone’s been dying to hear what’s going on!”

“Have they indeed? And what business is it of everyone, should I speak with Bilbo Baggins?”

The sudden silence that surrounded them had the wizard looking up and around. Everywhere Hobbits sat, listening far more obviously than he had become used to. Unabashedly, some even leant in closer as if to help them hear.

“Why, I never. Why don’t you tell me something first, hm? What do you know about Bilbo Baggins?”

That question unleashed a torrent of sound he was ill prepared to handle.

“He’s a wanderer-”

“-like one of the Dunedain! And with that-”

“-always off, doing Yavanna knows what-”

“-those swords of his! And a bow-”

“-never even invited for a single party-”

“-doesn’t host anything, nor does he ever-”

“Silence!”

A great hush fell over the Inn as a number of Hobbits felt the tips of their ears colour a soft pink of embarrassment. Sitting back down, Gandalf took another deep drag of his pipe before turning to Rorimac and raising his brow expectantly. The lad just peered around, evidently pleased to be the one to break this news to Gandalf. He licked his lips, then looked at the wizard again, lowering his voice to a secretive whisper even though the entire Inn could hear him.

“He’s an adventurer!”


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. All rights to Tolkien, Peter Jackson and whomever else owns a piece of the Hobbit pie.

Gandalf the Grey had seen many things. He had been alive for a very long time, after all. He had lived through wars, had seen kingdoms rise and fall and he had been present for the changing of the world. If asked, he would say that there was little that could surprise him. Yet here he was, staring at a Hobbit that was staring back, eager to document the expression on his face as he processed the statement made.

“An adventurer?” He shifted, his eyes narrowing down on the Hobbit before him.

Rorimac nodded, his curls bouncing around his head like mad little bunnies before he leant forward even further, hand resting on the table. He lowered his voice even more, though his dramatic whisper was still loud enough to be overheard. “He goes out, yes? With those ponies of his. Sometimes both, sometimes just one. He leaves and he’s gone for… for months! And when he comes back he’s covered in filth and his packs are filled to bursting with Yavanna knows what. He’s all thin, as if he doesn’t eat, but Adalgrim says he saw him lift a whole boar once, by himself. Also, he doesn’t come out of his house for socialising at all. No one has ever seen him at a party, nor does he ever host any. Why, if we didn’t all know he lived there, he’d have been forgotten! He doesn’t really talk to people, or… well. People don’t really talk to him.”

The hush grew painfully quiet then, before the hubbub started up again. As he looked up, Gandalf was unsurprised to see many Hobbits look rather contrite about the last admission. Whispers of ‘improper’ and ‘unseemly’ reached his ears and he smacked his lips around the mouthpiece of his pipe with dismay. Eventually, he looked back down at Rorimac, who regarded him with wide open eyes.

“Are… Is he going with you?” The hope in the young Hobbit’s voice made him pause again. It seemed that these Hobbits would never cease to surprise him. 

Gandalf rose up slightly before answering. “Why do you ask?”

The Hobbit flushed and rubbed his fingers together before looking down. He squirmed on his chair a little, twiddled his thumbs and then grimaced as Gandalf cleared his throat. “Well, it’s just that I don’t think he’s very happy here and I’d like to see him go on an adventure with someone else because he’s always going alone cause no one wants to join him, you see, Hobbits aren’t really much for adventure and so we all sort of keep clear of him out of fear that he might ask and we’d have to be impolite enough to say no and so I thought now that you’re here maybe you can take him along and be his friend so that he’d not be forced to go alone?”

A deep breath was taken at the end of the tirade before he was faced with a set of imploring and pleading green eyes. Shifting in his seat and leaning back, he gazed at the ceiling. This was truly not what he had expected. Bilbo Baggins was evidently well prepared and capable to go on a journey such as he had planned for the lad, but did that indeed still make him the right person? He had expected a soft and friendly Hobbit, eager to please and help those that needed it. This Hobbit seemed to be independent, friendless and closed off. If he was to come along, it might cause more issue than he anticipated and he was unsure if that was a good idea. Peering down again, he felt his facial muscles twitch into a pained grimace. “Oh very well, young Master Brandybuck. We shall see if he would like to join me.”

The pleasure and satisfaction on the Hobbit’s face drew a smile forth onto his own lips as well, though he couldn’t help but hope that the decision he had just made was the right one.

 

-|-l -|-

 

That afternoon saw him back at Bilbo’s door, peering at the Hobbit in the paddock, brushing his pony. The young lad was nothing like he had expected, truly. Now that young Rorimac had pointed it out to him, he had to concede that Bilbo Baggins was indeed thinner than the average Hobbit. He seemed to be strong and healthy enough, skin glowing and his movements controlled and certain. His hair, which he now spotted was far longer than that of the average Hobbit, was pulled back into a single braid that reached the bottom of his shoulder blades like a thick rope. With the sleeves rolled up, he could see several lines of scars on the bared arms, as well as a leather bracelet.

He had made very little sound, nor announced himself and yet Bilbo spoke up; “I expected you to be back at some point.” The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

As his eyes snapped up, he smiled genially at the Hobbit now looking back at him with a quirked brow. With a nod, he stepped up closer and rested his staff against the fence. “Yes, yes. I needed a moment to… re-evaluate my original expectations. You are not quite the Hobbit I expected to find.” He didn’t miss the shuttering of Bilbo’s eyes, nor the way the shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. Shrugging, Bilbo turned back to his pony and began to untangle her thick mane gently. His fingers worked with care, but swiftly, evidence that he had done this very job countless times before.

“I’m hardly a Hobbit, am I?” He pursed his lips and paused briefly before returning to his untangling business. 

Caught off guard by the question, Gandalf cocked his head to the side while leaning against the fence. His eyes remained on the untangling fingers, though his focus rested solely on the Hobbit. “Whatever do you mean by that?” 

A soft chuckle had him look up to the disbelieving gaze. “I usually don’t play these games, but I’ll indulge you for now. I know you’ve been to visit the Green Dragon, just as I know what you’ll have heard about me there. That I’m unusual, unnatural. Improper and not a gentlehobbit at all. Which suits me just fine. I’m happy the way I am and would not like to go back to being how I used to be, which was far more Hobbit than I am now.”

The line of his spine indicated that he expected something specific in reply to his declaration, but it probably wasn’t the laugh that he got from the wizard. “Excellent! I take it that you’ll be ready for this, then. Good, good. I thought I would have to convince you, but this is far better. Far better indeed.” With that, he moved to the door and rubbed his staff against the wood to mark it. The sign lit up for a fraction of a second, then sunk in. 

Bilbo frowned at him, yet did not abandon his pony. “What did you do?” He asked, peering at Gandalf with undisguised suspicion. 

The answer he received just worried him even more. “Just made something clear. Now! I’ll be back tomorrow. Tea, I expect. Prepare to receive thirteen, Master Baggins. Good day then, good day!”

 

-|-l -|-

 

He didn’t remember much about the old wizard that his mother used to talk about. He made fireworks and caused trouble in the Shire. In a way, that made him already one of the people Bilbo Liked. The list was remarkably short and contained some of his relatives, but no more than ten people had ever warranted the same status. Still, the way the wizard had spoken and laughed before taking his leave elicited a special kind of wariness. Myrtle whickered under his palm and he shushed her softly, running his hand up and down her neck in a soothing gesture.

“Don’t you worry, girl. It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

 

-|-l -|-

 

When the knock on his door came before noon the following day, he was surprised. It wasn’t even close to tea yet and despite his status as ‘unhobbity’ in the Shire, there were some things that Bilbo appreciated. One of those things would be a proper head’s up when things were coming his way. While he’d learned to adjust his expectations in the past twenty years, he was no less happy about receiving visitors outside of appointed times. And when he opened the door to a rather dangerous looking dwarf, loaded with weapons, tattoos and a beard, he found that niggling feeling from the previous day return at full power.

“Dwalin. At your service.” The large dwarf gave him a cursory once over before his forehead creased in a frown. He didn’t bow though, after introducing himself, choosing to simply nod at the Hobbit. 

The curt nod and expectant look caused Bilbo to reply in kind, though he barely managed to withhold a stammer. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours.” Stepping back, he motioned the dwarf towards the pegs on the wall so that he could hang up his cloak, then closed the door behind him as Dwalin entered. The dwarf dutifully hung his cloak and set his pack on the floor underneath it before straightening and looking around curiously.

“Am I the first? Is there dinner yet?” The questions were met with a blank expression and the dwarf shrugged, about to make his way further into the house in a search of food. 

Only the sight of him about to open the door to his second study spurred Bilbo into action and he released a soft squeak before following him. “Don’t go in there! That’s… off limits. And the kitchen is that way. Feel free to fix yourself something. Gandalf mentioned there would be others, but he said you wouldn’t be here until tea. I’ve not even gone to the market yet.”

The dwarf shrugged with a single shoulder as he moved into the kitchen with far more grace than Bilbo had expected him to have. Despite his many travels, he had never met a dwarf nor been near one and he had to admit he was rather curious. “There’s ale in the corner, there. Or mead. Any food I do have is in the larder. Out of the kitchen, to the left and through the pale green door.” A grunt was his only reply and he rolled his eyes before moving over to those rooms he wished to keep private. He made quick work of locking his office, study, the second study, the library, his ‘bits and bobs’ room as well as the door leading to Myrtle and Thistle’s stables. Following that, he ensured that any valuables were out of sight before returning to the kitchen and giving Dwalin a hand in preparing food. The dwarf appeared to need it.

“So. You… uh. Are with Gandalf?” His voice regained a little strength as he peered at the other curiously. 

The dwarf looked at him from the corner of his eyes, then gave him another soft nod. “Aye. The wizard said we would find our fourteenth member here. I assume that’s you. I suppose it could be worse. The ones I saw on my way here all looked far more… Soft.”

Unable to hold a snort, Bilbo quickly coughed as he continued kneading dough for rolls. Soft, he said? Well. He supposed that was definitely true. And likely the dwarf would appreciate his house a little more as well, what with it being so unlike any other hobbit hole he had ever seen. After the passing of his mother and father, Bilbo had gotten rid of the things he didn’t need. He still had some keepsakes, of course, but now that there was no one to tell him he couldn’t go off and travel, he’d sold the silver, most of the crockery and other knick-knacks and doodads that he had no use for. Instead, the walls were lined with maps and plans, drawings of things he’d seen and letters written by the many people he had met on the road. The furniture, while sparse, was comfortable and sturdy, the rugs soft and plush. He’d cleared out several guest rooms to replace them with rooms he actually needed, such as a library, which was filled with scrolls and books, both written by him and bought in cities and villages he’d visited, some as far as Rivendell. He’d even created a room to create his own bows and arrows, as well as leather work. He wasn’t very good at it and still had to get someone to fix the mistakes he’d make, but practice makes perfect.

“Yes, well… Hobbits aren’t exactly required to be anything but soft. They live their lives of comfort and peace here. They don’t concern themselves with the going-on’s of other folk.” His hands didn’t shake as he peeled another carrot before dropping it into a cooking pot and there was only a hint of bitterness in the words and Dwalin gave him no more than a cursory look. 

“You say ‘them’, as if you are not one yourself.” Dwalin all but questioned.

It remained unanswered, however, and with the harsh knock on the door, Bilbo quickly moved out of the kitchen to answer that, rather than the question. When he opened the door this time, there was a white haired dwarf looking far older than the first one, yet there were some similarities between the two. As the dwarf dipped into a bow, he spoke. “Balin. At your service.” His voice was gravelly and scratchy, evidence of his current thirst. 

Bilbo stepped back quickly and showed him in. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours. Please, come in. There is one of your party here already.”

The wizened eyes perked up at that and, after hanging his cloak and setting down his pack, Balin went to greet Dwalin with great enthusiasm. Bilbo reeled back slightly at the head butting going on, happy he wasn’t a dwarf. Though, he supposed, if he were, he’d be built to take hits like that with little difficulty. After a moment of contemplation, he moved back to the kitchen and resumed his cooking. Soon enough, Dwalin and Balin were assisting him with moving foodstuff to the dining room. He directed them towards the second dining room to collect the more formal table from that one and set it next to the large wooden one they already had in this room.

“Get the benches too, I’ll see if I can get some more ale from the basement.” After hearing two confirming grunts, he hummed and moved through the kitchen and over to the basement door to collect another cask of ale. He thought that he might be upset at the intrusion in his house, as well as the less than polite behaviour of the two dwarves. And had he not grown accustomed to the gruff and sometimes downright cranky behaviour of some of his more regular travelling partners, he probably would have been insulted. As it was, he was able to shrug it off and lug another cask up the stairs before setting it in the middle of the table. Just as he finished, there was another knock on his door.

“Fili-” The blond haired dwarf introduced himself with a playful smirk, his eyes crinkling with humour and a certain kind of joy. Bilbo was about to speak, when the blond turned to the chestnut haired dwarf to his left.

“-and Kili-” The other intoned, before the two of them dipped into a bow far deeper than any other he’d received so far. He blinked at them and then chuckled at their joint: **“At your service.”.**

He nodded and dipped into a rather playful bow of his own. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours. Brothers?”

At the grinning nods he received in reply, he smiled at the two before stepping back to allow them in. He gave them the same instructions as the previous dwarves before directing them towards the kitchen and the other two members of the company. There was excited chatter in a guttural language he had never heard before, but presumed to be Khuzdul. While interested in learning it, he knew it was a closely guarded secret, not available to any outside of their race. The four dwarves and one Hobbit worked in the kitchen for another half hour, then retreated to the living room for a smoke and a drink. Just as Bilbo kicked up his feet to listen to a story told – and partially re-enacted – by Fili and Kili, another knock on the door stopped him. He sighed then and moved back to the door to answer it, accompanied by giggles and a guffaw from Balin.

Opening the door was yet again an adventure. This time there were three and he secretly wondered if the next time a knock would come it would be four. Regardless, he welcomed them-

“Dori.”

“Nori.”

“And Ori.”

**“At your service.”**

-into his home and directed them to the living room. He went to check up on the food, then welcomed the next ‘batch’ of dwarves-

“Oin.”

“And Gloin.”

**“At your service.”**

-before turning on the stove to heat up the soup he’d prepared. Soon the dining table was sagging under the amount of food prepared. For a Hobbit that ‘had not yet been to the market’ yet, Bilbo had an amazing amount of food in his house, as might be expected of a Hobbit. He carefully moved the roast onto the table before placing a lid on top of it, then moved to deliver some more cakes and snacks to the living room. Another interruption had him welcoming-

“Bofur.”

A grunted sound, followed by Bofur informing him the second dwarf was named Bifur.

“and Bombur.”

**“At your service.”**

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours. And Gandalf! Finally. I was wondering when you would be showing up. I do believe it’s rather rude of you to not give me more of a warning as to what I was to expect, you know?”

The wizard merely chuckled at him as he entered, though the dirty look given to him by Fili, Kili and Dwalin had him clearing his throat. “Er… yes, well. Apologies, my dear lad. I believed the excitement would have done you well.” 

Bilbo muttered something under his breath before a scent had him close the door. “Dwalin, if you would please show everyone the dining room? I believe dinner is ready.”

The bald warrior nodded and rose, herding his kin from the living room and hall towards the dining room. Sighs, hoots of appreciation and an increase of chatter alerted the Hobbit to the company’s arrival and he smirked before rolling his eyes. Predictable. Nonetheless, he brought out the soup and invited the dwarves to begin piling up their plates. This they did all too eagerly; Bombur’s plate resembling a miniature Erebor within seconds. Cheerful tales and laughter filled the room and as he sat back to observe them, Bilbo couldn’t help but feel a tug of envy. These people all knew each other. Trusted one another and would likely defend their friends and family. He missed this. This kind of kinship. The easy manner in which they spoke to one another and the closeness that was evident amongst them.

While he did have those few relatives that he got along with, and he had his Ranger friends, he rarely spent more than two months with the latter and rarely more than two hours with the former. He wasn’t around the Rangers long enough to form true bonds with them and his family, as much as he loved them and they him, were different. Their interests were beyond him and none of them understood his desire to go out and explore, to draw his maps, discover plants and animals the Shire had never heard of. He loved travelling with the Rangers the best, due to their knowledge of flora and fauna as well as their willingness to part from said knowledge. They taught him to shoot his bow, to make a poultice and how to sharpen his blade. In return he would tell them stories, cook them dinner and showed them the best way to roast a pheasant with their limited resources. And while some of them were more frequent companions, others he only saw once every two to three years.

Despite that, he was content. He had no want for anything; the money his parents left him as well as the profit of his books – they sold quite well. Apparently reading about these things was accepted, though actually experiencing them was a big no-no – would easily allow for him to live comfortably several lifetimes over. He had his ponies, his work, his travels and his memories. But he didn’t have actual friends. And as he watched Fili try to rub sauce into Kili’s face, egged on by Ori and Bofur, he realised that the thing he had been experiencing for a few years now, had a name. Loneliness. The awareness caused him to choke on a sip of ale and he was quick to wave off a concerned Balin, though Dwalin’s pats on the back were more painful than helpful.

Just as he was about to rise and bring desert, another knock sounded on the door. A hush fell and most of the dwarves rose to stand and follow him into the hall until he turned and placed his hands on his hips.

“Now see here. I don’t know who this is, but I am your host, announced or not. I will not have your entire company come with me just to see me open the door. It won’t do. No. You will sit here and continue your meal. I shall collect the thirteenth member of your company and show them in.”

When they all stared at him for a moment, he arched his brow and tipped his head to the side slightly, sending at least the younger generation back to their seats. The elder ones hesitated briefly until a nod by Balin had them all sitting too. “Thank you.”

With a huff of exasperation Bilbo turned back to the hall and went to open the door. The dwarf stood there was not one he’d have expected to see. While his beard was short, he was no less intimidating than Dwalin. The way in which he carried himself suggested that he was a warrior as well, though his clothes and bearing indicated more than that. He realised they’d been staring at each other for a moment and cleared his throat softly before dipping into a short bow. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

Only after the customary greeting had left his lips did he realise that he was in no way obligated to introduce himself first. And as he straightened, he nearly frowned as the dwarf, rather than offering his name in reply, was watching him intently. He swallowed, about to speak again, when the gaze shifted from the Hobbit to the cloaks and packs behind him. Only after counting them did he turn his eyes back to the now slightly nervous Bilbo. “Thorin Oakenshield.”

A pause followed before he grunted out a rather forced ‘At yours’. Now Bilbo did frown. He looked the dwarf up and down, giving him the same sort of inspection he himself had received not moments ago. Only after a few tense moments did he step back in order to allow him entry into the house. The dwarf entered, hung up his cloak and set down his pack with a soft groan before turning to Bilbo and looking him over once more. Bilbo, in the meantime, was getting more and more agitated with the odd behaviour and was about to speak again when the dwarf gave a soft hum. “Preferred weapon?” 

He shivered softly, then shifted. The answer escaped him before he could give it much thought, but watching the two eyebrows rise up in surprise was worth it, he supposed. “Bow. Though I am able to wield sword and dagger as well.”

A nod was the only other acknowledgement he got before the dwarf turned to look at the hallway behind Bilbo. “I see. The others?” Nodding, Bilbo motioned for the dwarf to step forward, leading him over to the dining room which fell quiet the minute the two of them entered. Balin rose up then, followed by the others. Thorin looked them over one by one, before nodding. Receiving the same in return, he sat at the only unoccupied seat at the table. Bilbo was quick to supply him with a plate, a bowl of soup and a tankard of ale, preening internally at the surprised and grudgingly grateful expression on the other’s face. There was a bit of chatter about some sort of meeting, until Gandalf spoke up.

“Shall we begin, then?”

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. All rights to Tolkien, Peter Jackson and whomever else owns a piece of the Hobbit pie.

After Gandalf had spoken, there was a respectful yet pressing silence in the room. The sound of cutlery tapping onto plates had faded into the growing darkness surrounding the smial. Every pair of eyes was fixed onto Thorin Oakenshield, who merely sat and stared into his soup. The dwarves remained unmoving though, their breaths held within their lungs and their expectation thick in the air. Anticipation was not something Bilbo was accustomed to, nor did he deal with it very well. So after a minute of the smothering silence, he cleared his throat loudly and shifted in his seat. Ori actually squeaked softly and Kili glared when his brother snickered at him for jerking up in his seat. “So… Would someone please tell me what, exactly, you are doing here?”

Finally, a reaction. At his words, most, if not all of his visitors turned to look at him. He swallowed again, unused to being the centre of attention to this many people. As he looked back, he was surprised to note that some of the looks he got were actually confused and rather baffled. He blinked in return, and then narrowed his eyes as he turned towards Gandalf. “You didn’t tell them.” His tone was accusing enough to draw Thorin from his pensive soup staring. “Tell us what?” The question was demanding as much as it was an actual question and Bilbo felt slightly frazzled as his figurative hackles rose in protest. Nonetheless, he answered. “That I did not know you would be here. Gandalf came by, but did not tell me why. He did not tell me there would be thirteen dwarves looking to have dinner and probably sleep in my home tonight.”

Dwalin drew himself up slightly as he gifted Gandalf with a particularly nasty look. “Aye, true. The wizard promised us that you would be willing to provide us food and beds.” Bilbo quickly waved his hands in dismissal, hurriedly stepping forward. “Oh, no. I would. I will. I am. I mean… It’s simply that I did not know I would need to. Rather… I had no idea you would be here and honestly, I only have… one bedroom.” Again with the silence. Gandalf looked at him with confusion. “A Hobbit hole with only one bedroom? Preposterous! Why, I visited this very house not thirty years ago and your own mother told me there were at least twelve guest rooms, not including mine.”

Bilbo felt his ire rise again at the mention of his mother. His eyes darkened and Nori, sat next to him, released a sound of unhappiness while shuffling to the left a little. The Hobbit might seem tiny, but there was no knowing what he would do when angered. And indeed, Bilbo Baggins seemed to grow at least twice as tall as he had been before, looking down at the wizard with clear dislike. “My mother,” he paused to swallow before continuing, “My mother may have welcomed you and any other in this house, but I am _not_ my mother. What this house may or may not have had thirty years ago is completely irrelevant to what it does have today. I had no need for that many guest rooms, so I changed them.” He left it unsaid that in those years since his mother passed, there had not been anyone to come and visit him, certainly not long enough to warrant the use of a guest room.

Gandalf seemed taken aback a bit, chewing absent-mindedly on the long stem of his pipe before he nodded. “I had seen. Stables?” Bilbo’s jaw locked into a stubborn set before he replied curtly. “Myrtle and Thistle needed that room more than you do. At least they’re permanent residents here.” The words were not intended to hurt, but as he spotted a slight flinch in the wizard, he could not deny that he felt a stab of satisfaction. Suddenly remembering the dwarves still sat around his table, he blinked and flushed, quickly sitting back down and burying his face in a tankard of ale that may or may not have been his own. Kili’s soft whine alluded to the latter and he quickly coughed and set the thing back in front of the young dwarf.

“Yes. Well. Yes. In any case, you are more than welcome to stay the night. I’ve enough food to provide breakfast as well. That doesn’t take away from the fact that I still don’t know why you are here.” He looked around, finally settling on looking at Thorin since he was evidently the one in charge and seemed far more likely to give him a straight answer than Gandalf. The dark haired man gave him a piercing look before straightening out of his slouch – and how dare he make that slouch look that graceful! – And setting his hands before him. “Have you ever heard of a mountain called Erebor?” Bilbo nodded solemnly, his head tipping to the side ever so slightly. “Yes, it’s… the Lonely Mountain? The one with the dragon, I think?” He ignored the surprised look from Gandalf in favour of looking at Thorin once more.

“Indeed. It is our home. Years ago, we were banished from it by that creature. It burned our homes, devoured our family and friends, and then took up residence in our home. It has no right to it.” Here, Bilbo was unable to halt the soft gasp that escaped his lips. For Thorin’s eyes, as certain as he had been that they had been the blue of a summer sky, had turned dark and blazing with fire. A gentle hand on the back of his shoulder blade settled him and he vowed to make sure Nori slept well that night. “It has been foretold that there would come a day upon which the dwarves of Erebor could return to their rightful place.” The company leader paused and looked at Oin whom, after a moment of catching up, nodded.

“I’ve read the portents and the portents say it is time.” Bilbo wasn’t too certain about these so called portents, nor about their meaning, but he supposed he could understand their desire to return. “The dragon is still there, isn’t it?” Mutterings and mumblings echoed around the table, some agreeing, some debating and some denying. Suddenly Ori veered up and, with a face as red as Bilbo’s prize tomatoes declared: “I'm not afraid, I'm up for it. I'll give him a taste of the dwarfish iron right up his jacksy!” Dori, sat next to the scribe, flushed and jerked him back down into his seat –“Sit down!”- And fussed over him all the while berating him. Nori gave an exasperated huff to the Hobbit’s left and Dwalin grunted in annoyance.

It wasn’t until Kili and Fili began pestering Gandalf for information on his dragon slaying adventures, not until Bofur and Bifur were all but shouting at one another in Khuzdul and not until Nori became engaged in a heated debate with Dori about whether or not Ori was still allowed to come that Thorin all but exploded from the table. His loud and thundering “Enough!” was indeed enough to cause Bilbo to unwittingly release a soft whimper and immediately his eyes widened in mortification. As Thorin glared challengingly at his company, the Hobbit cleared his throat softly and began clearing the table and bustling about with desert. As he did, he listened. “If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, and weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?”

This caused another commotion as all dwarves rose up from their seats and cheered him on, tankards clashing together in agreement and enthusiasm. It was this moment that Bilbo decided to make himself known to his guests once more. “Yes, well. That’s all well and good and – very good speech, quite rousing – but how, exactly, had you envisioned this taking back Erebor? I mean, if the dragon is still there, that’ll obviously be a problem. And even then, should it be dead, how were you planning on defending it with just the thirteen of you? Did you not just say that others would take their chance as well?” His questions were met with yet another uncomfortable silence and Bilbo was beginning to feel as if he’d had quite enough of those, thank you very much. “Come on, now. Surely you’ve considered this.”

His arms crossed and he peered at the ones amongst the company that seemed to either have authority or relatively high levels of intelligence. Dwalin leant forward and eyed Thorin expectantly. “The Burglar has a point,” he said, ignoring whatever protest Bilbo made about being called a burglar. “And a point that we must consider. You attended the meeting?” Thorin’s shoulders sagged ever so slightly as he nodded. This caused the expressions on most of the other faces surrounding him to pinch as well. “And they will not come. They say it is our quest.”

Sitting back in his chair, Dwalin stroked his beard pensively. “Very well.” He did not seem pleased at all, though there was a resignation in his posture that called out to Bilbo on a level he had not anticipated. He knew that line, drawn as it was on dwarfish shoulders rather than his own. He knew that tilt to the corners of a furred mouth rather than a smooth one. And he knew the sorrow and longing in those blue eyes as much as he knew them in his own green ones. And it enraged him a little bit, fuelled the fire that burned like a tiny little ember within himself and caused his eyes to blaze just as much as Thorin’s had before. “Very well? That’s it? I should hope it’s not at all very well!” His palms smacked onto the table with such force that he knew he would regret it, but he could not care at that very moment.

“I certainly don’t think it’s all very well. And you are not going to sit there and let this- humph! Bebother and confusticate these dwarves!” The confused and slightly affronted looks he got for that caused him to throw caution in the wind and surge forward. He did not often get caught up in the moment and no, he did not enjoy it half as much as he should like to do so. Because for all of his reading in books and travelling with Rangers, Bilbo had never been in actual true danger as one might believe a dragon to instigate. He had fought, yes, the occasional skirmish with a bandit or a small band of lone and half-starved goblins, but did that count? He wasn’t too certain. “I am not as… as brave as you might be. Or as strong. And it’s certainly not _my_ mountain that you’re trying to get back. So why is it that a Hobbit such as me is more willing to go along with you on this journey than your own kin?”

After he had looked around to inspect the other dwarves quickly, Balin shook his head. “Master Baggins… Our kin has- you should know that we have lost a lot in the past hundred years or so. Our home, family, livelihood.” He glanced at Thorin for a short moment, whom appeared to be brooding once again. Eventually he turned to Gandalf, who simply nodded and pulled forth a map. “Rest assured, though, that we need not enter the mountain in the conventional way, which would have us roasted and toasted in a flash.”

Here, everyone moved forward to look at the map, eager eyes tracing the lines of the mountain drawn there. The red ink dragon caused malcontent to appear, yet no one dared to look away for fear that there might be something missed. Some crucial detail overlooked. And so they watched, and listened. Gandalf was a good storyteller if the mood struck him, and having such undivided attention did please him. So, he told of Thrain and the key, of the map and the door. And when he handed the key over to Thorin, there were only a few who noticed the flash of intense sorrow that darkened the King’s eyes. For it was only then that he realized that his father had truly passed away. Only then would he have received this key. And if all who noticed respectfully averted their eyes to allow him to compose himself, no one would speak up and say so.

“We can enter through this secret door, then.” Thorin spoke at last, voice only slightly rougher than it had been before. Gandalf nodded. “Well, if we can find it, but dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map, and I do not have the skill to find it, but there are others in Middle-Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth, and no small amount of courage. But if we're careful and clever, I believe that it can be done.” At this, every pair of eyes turned to look once more upon Bilbo. The Hobbit placed his weight from one foot onto another, cleared his throat and hooked his thumbs behind his suspenders. He peered at the map, then the company and Gandalf before turning to the map once more. “Well. Yes. I see why you would need a burglar. And a good one, at that. Expert, I would say.”

This gathered many nods and agreeing hums and huffs around the table, as several dwarves lip their pipes and began drawing and puffing in satisfaction. Bilbo puffed up slightly. “Now, see here! I am no burglar; I’ve never stolen a thing in my life! That said, yes, if you find a passage that is indeed as small as this map indicates, I might be able to get in there, but I highly doubt that I’ll be able to rob the place empty without this dragon noticing. Besides. I thought the purpose was to reclaim the mountain?” Chuckling, Gandalf gave him a rather heavy pat on the back. “Ah, Bilbo, my lad, that’s exactly why we need you.”

And try as he might, Bilbo could not get in another word, for the dwarves where thrilled and joyful, cheering and clapping as Balin handed him a contract which he read with great care. A muttered chatter occurred between Thorin and Gandalf, though Bilbo was quite busy reading through the various manners in which he might meet his end. “Right… Right. Well. Right.” He rubbed his cheek slightly, paling but not yet feeling weak in the knees. “I… uh. I ought to…” He wandered off; oblivious to the many confused and curious looks the others were giving him.

Kili frowned, peering at his brother. As he spoke, he sounded rather like a kicked puppy, downtrodden and wounded through no fault he could fathom. “You… think he’ll come?” Fili, feeling no less unsure but being a lot better at hiding it, grinned and slung his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Aye, Kili! I think he will. Don’t worry. He’s probably just looking for… for a… for a pen!” Kili beamed at him and nodded sagely. “Ah, yes, that’s probably it!” As Kili happily returned to his ale, Fili peered round the table to take in the many sceptic and disappointed faces. He was about to speak again when the Hobbit puttered back into the room holding a different sheaf of papers alongside the contract and… a pen.

Now, let it be said that Bilbo Baggins had already done quite a lot of surprising that day. He had welcomed them, provided for them and even managed to actually get Dwalin to stand in a kitchen to cook, rather than eat. He had not been as soft or meek as they might have thought him to be upon meeting other Hobbits. He even had ponies and weapons. Weapons! And now here he was, pressing himself back between Kili and Nori as he scribbled away on the second pile of papers he had retrieved. “Mhh… not Lobelia, no. But perhaps… Rori? Oh, no. He wished to live near the ferry.” His brow furrowed and his teeth nibbled on the quill he was holding. The table was silent as they observed him and finally he perked up a little. “Drogo. Now there’s a good lad. A Baggins should always be in Bag End, after all. Now then… time-” He looked up so fast that Kili reeled back and smacked his head into Fili’s, who cursed and moaned as he held his bleeding nose. “How long will this venture take, you think?”

Thorin blinked for a moment and then turned to look at Dwalin and Balin. “I… several months, at least. A year, perhaps. There will be the journey there, then the journey back.” Bilbo nodded and returned to his scribbling, to the great fascination of Nori. The thief leaned forward and peered at the work until he could beam at Ori. “Almost as neat as you!” Ori grinned in return and gave him a big thumbs up. At that moment, Bilbo signed off with a flourish and passed the papers onto Gandalf and Thorin. “If you could sign those as witness, please? I’ll have to ask one of the Brandybucks to sign it as well, tomorrow, but it should be fine.” The papers were accepted and read as Bilbo went through the business of signing the contract and handing it to Balin. After a cursory check, they were folded and put away with care.

“Bilbo… this-” The Hobbit turned to regard Gandalf once more. “Yes, a will. If I run the risk of getting incinerated-” he hid a shiver here, “- I’d appreciate it if my affairs were in order. As such… a will.” He crossed his arms once more and stared at both King and wizard until the both of them had signed the papers as witness. Pleased, he retrieved the pack and headed out into his office once more.

 

-|-l -|-

 

While he was packing - though not neglecting his guests, such as they were, and placing down a large spread of cakes and biscuits and cookies and pies for snacks – Bilbo found himself frozen to the floor. They were singing. They were singing about their home. And oh, it was wonderful. A beautiful humming, thrumming and reverberating sound that made his bones tremble and his blood rush, a singing that brought him away from his half-packed bag and towards his living room. And once there, all he could do was staring at them unabashedly. He could not help himself as he took in the pain, the deep seated _longing_ that their faces echoed back at him. They didn’t have a home. As he stepped back, feeling as if he were intruding, he found himself stood in the middle of his hallway.

Did he have a home? Was this cosy and tidy and lovely little Hobbit hole his home? Or was it just the house that he had been living in after his parents passed away so many years ago. He looked around. Truly looked around at his walls and floors and doors and what he saw nearly brought him to his knees. For he was like them. Even though they had to work for every scrap they owned, even though he was nicely provided for, he was as homeless as they were and the sudden realisation had him digging his fingers in his shirt and gasp loudly. He shivered, knees buckling as he clasped his free hand over his lips, smothering any other sound that might have sprung forth from them, then stumbled over to his bedroom and firmly locked the door. Once in there, he buried himself under the covers and _sobbed_ and _wept_ for the loss of home that he only now felt so keenly. Because he had thought this was home. That he belonged here. And it took the singing of a group of dwarves to tell him: This is what home feels like. And he didn’t feel it.

 

-|-l -|-

 

He had heard the sound. Soft as it was, hidden away, he heard it. And he wondered what caused it. Curiously, he had followed the Hobbit into the hallway when the song was brought to a finish, only to see their host stumble into his room. He had furrowed his brow then and followed until he could press an ear against the door. It wasn’t proper manners, he knew. And likely as not his mother would have given him a good box around the ears if she had seen. But she didn’t and so he listened. And he wondered what could cause such heartbreak in a creature such as Bilbo Baggins.

Later that night, he cried in his brothers arms. He didn’t understand his uncle as much as he would like to. Didn’t know how much he had suffered, because when he himself was born, their people had already settled under the Blue Mountain. And while the start had not been easy, by the time he was aware of the world, there came a time of plenty and prosperity for those that had worked hard. So no. He didn’t know about the depth of his uncle’s pain. But he knew that he hurt, that he suffered even today and that, in turn, hurt _him_. It hurt Kili to see his uncle brought this low. To see his teachers and mentors weeping.

And as Fili wrapped his arms around his younger brother, he soaked up the affection, bathed in the softly whispered murmurs, took hold of the soothing strokes along his back and cried.

 

-|-l -|-

 

The next morning, Bilbo was up before any of the dwarves. Thankfully. He made his way into the kitchen with a hop and a skip in his step, peering into the living room as he passed it. There he paused, then hid a grin. The dwarves were all laid out over his couch, chairs and rugs, some dragged in from other rooms. Evidently the younger dwarves had all clustered together, Kili and Fili resembling a burrito with Ori half draped over their legs. Balin and Dwalin were resting against one another, as were Dori and Oin, with Gloin right behind them and curled awkwardly backwards over the armrest of his sofa. Nori was curled around Bofur, the two resting against Bombur’s rather rotund belly, with Bifur taking up the other side. Finally, Thorin was sat in Bilbo’s favourite armchair, his head tipped back and mouth open slightly. It was a blessing, he supposed, to be gifted with this sight of dwarves comfortable enough to let their guard down in his house. Quickly he resumed his path and ended up in the kitchen where he began whipping up a rather delicious breakfast.

Delicious kippers and spicy sausages, soft and fluffy eggs with crispy bacon, crunchy toast and sweet preserves and beans in thick, rich tomato sauce. He hummed as he fried and cooked and scrambled, then put his largest kettle on to prepare water for tea and coffee. In the meantime, he prepared sandwiches for on the way, wrapping them in thick paper to protect them from bugs and other such nonsense that had no place in a sandwich. He paused, taking in the sights of his second larder – because really, while he had no use for more than one bedroom, no self-respecting Hobbit would be satisfied with just the one larder. Imagine if there would be another Fell Winter or famine! – and deciding that he might as well make some long term preparations.

It was because of this that, when the dwarves were all awake, bathed and dressed and sat at the dining table, he presented each and every one of them with a package. There were the sandwiches, but also jerky, dried fish, nuts and berries, little bags of powder and jars of paste. Biscuits were folded into the corners, along with something the Rangers called Waybread and had taught him to make a long time ago. The powder and paste was received with some question and he flushed slightly before explaining himself. “The powder is corn starch. If placed in a watery stew, it thickens it so that you are fuller when you finish eating. This one is a mix of my own. It contains added vitamins and such to help keep you strong on the road. And the paste is… well. Most are just herb and spices and the likes, but one or two spoonful’s in a boiling pot of water will add flavour and nutrition to the mix. It’s… what the Rangers do.” He twiddles his thumbs slightly before suddenly finding himself facing Oin, who grabbed him by the shoulder and grinned toothily at him. “Wise lad! Thank you. Would you mind showing me some of your herbs and spices?”

Bilbo flushed again, though this time in pleasure as he eagerly led the elderly dwarf to his stores. There, the two proceeded to have a rather animated discussion about healing properties of the drying bushels hanging from the rafters which ended with Oin taking almost all of it with him, muttering. Ori had found several books that he shyly requested Bilbo take with him and Kili had apparently broken into the room he used to create his arrows. No doubt Nori was not even half as innocent as he pretended to be. The enthusiasm of the young lad, though, just made Bilbo sigh before he nudged Fili in as well.

The morning was spent thusly, with the dwarves nosing around and exclaiming their delight at finding different ends and odds, maps and stones. They sharpened their weapons (Dwalin), created some more arrows (Kili) and ground herbs into pastes and poultices (Oin). Some of them went on a walk to the market to gather more supplies (Bombur, Bofur and Bifur), whereas Thorin and Balin were bent over a map together with Gandalf. Bilbo blinked at that, because he did not remember seeing Gandalf earlier today during breakfast, but no one else seemed surprised.

As he hoisted his pack onto Thistle, he felt himself content for the first time in a long while. He hadn’t been this relaxed in years. Humming the song he heard last night to himself softly, he made sure to check Thistle’s legs and hooves, as well as her coat. He finished tacking her up, then moved to Myrtle and did the same. Thistle would carry his gear for the time being, as well as the sleeping rolls of Bombur, Dwalin and Thorin. This would unload their ponies a little and allow them a bit more movement. He had also fixed the burlap wrapped pots and pans Bombur had brought onto Thistle’s back, as well as an extra blanket or two. When he finally stepped back, he nodded in satisfaction.

He was ready.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. All rights to Tolkien, Peter Jackson and whomever else owns a piece of the Hobbit pie.

The Shire was all rolling hills and babbling creeks. It had the green grass that one might expect to see only on paintings. The kind of peace that could not be found anywhere else in all of Middle-Earth. As such, it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that travelling through it was pleasant. The weather was lovely, the wind _just_ right and the company interesting. They laughed as they passed by ancient oaks. There were stories told as they rode over little paths that cut through the pastures and tilled earth. Food was shared while they were sitting next to a field overflowing with flowers and Bilbo enthusiastically explained that it was commonly known as the Lover’s Jaunt. Hobbit lads and lasses eager to court would traipse all over the field to look for just the right flowers.

Fili and Kili listened on eagerly, peering over at the field on occasion and nodding fervently as Bilbo elaborated on Ori’s request. He told them of Hobbit customs, courting and weddings, which led to a grand tale of the Midsummer celebration and Gandalf being seen in a new light as the Hobbit told tales of his fireworks. Ori was scribbling away eagerly, noting it all down in one of the spare books Bilbo had lying around in Bag End. ‘I don’t need this many, and besides I have some here, still. See? You enjoy them, Ori.’ He’d said, pushing them into Ori’s hands. The russet coloured dwarf had leapt with joy and hugged him as well as he could before rushing off and showing a preening Balin what he’d received. Balin had looked up and winked at Bilbo then. Bilbo, on his part, had simply flushed, stammered and vanished back into the kitchen muttering about third or fourth break dinner… supper. Balin wasn’t sure.

As the group finished their lunch, Thorin called for them to get back onto their ponies and prepare to set out again. It didn’t take long at all for the group to settle into a comfortable rhythm. While still in the Shire, they didn’t dare touch their precious food resources. Instead, they’d knock on the doors of homes they passed and exchanged either money, or in one case, favours, for food. Thorin had been making horseshoes for so long that he truly didn’t mind having a look at some of them, nor did he fuss about being asked to fix a hoe. Dwalin had grumbled a bit, but being presented with a mug of ale and a hot meat pie, he’d quieted down soon enough.

“So, Bilbo?” Blinking and shaking himself out of his pensive mood, the Hobbit turned to regard a curious Kili. “Have you ever… been with someone?” The flush on his cheeks was partially hidden by his grin, but Bilbo saw it regardless. He flushed, but smiled and shook his head. “Uhm. No?”

Fili, on Kili’s other side, leaned forward a bit to look around his brother. “Not even once? Are you still-”

“Fili!” Dori’s outcry sounded appalled enough that it sent the brothers into a fit of giggles, whereas poor Bilbo could do nothing but blush a deep crimson. “That is _not_ talk for the road.” He peered at Ori, to his left, who looked far too interested in the discussion and puffed up a bit. “Nor elsewhere!”

Behind him, Bofur snickered and muttered something in Khuzdul to Bifur, who broke out in loud guffaws even as Dori turned even redder than Bilbo himself. “Why, I never!” The grey-haired dwarf huffed loudly before clicking his tongue and spurring his pony onwards and to the front of the group to ride next to Balin who gave him a sympathetic look before engaging him in a conversation about his former profession. Bilbo, on his part, was simply trying to wrap his head around the various personalities and characters in their little group. There were so many! He enjoyed speaking with the two princes – when they weren’t being obnoxious and inquiring about private business that they really, really didn’t have any business discussing at all – and their youthful enthusiasm was rather contagious.

Ori and Balin were great conversationalists when it came to all things written and read. Bilbo had a great love for books and he was pleased to discover these two people who shared his passion. Late at night, as they sat round the fire, the three of them would often retreat to a corner and draw lines in the sand with sticks, discussing different types of writing, drawing and exchanging tales of their written works. While Balin’s were far more political than either Bilbo or Ori would be able to follow, he also enjoyed reading about flora and fauna more than he initially let on and the three bonded over their mutual interest. During any dinner preparations, Bilbo could be found with Bombur as they were bent forward and put their heads together, discussing spices, herbs and marinades. Their talks often led to new combinations that delighted most of the company.

Most of them. While he got along quite well with Balin, Bombur, Dori and Ori due to their joined interests as well as with Bofur, Fili and Kili who were simply quite sociable, he was having some difficulty connecting to the remaining members of their group. Bifur was a bit of an oddity to him, though most of that was caused by their inability to actually have a conversation that didn’t involve grunting. While Dwalin never treated him unjustly, there was still a certain kind of fear whenever the dwarf was near him. He was intimidating due to more than just his height and muscles. His entire presence, the way he carried himself practically screamed seasoned warrior. The same could be said for Thorin. The future King had that same bearing. On top of that, he kept his distance from most of the company which made it difficult to approach him at all.

Nori was another case that had him befuddled more often than not. The thief would prowl around the camp-site, speaking only very sparsely with his brothers before he’d vanish into a tree or wherever he vanished off to. During the day he kept to himself. Oin and Gloin where nice enough, but Oin often misheard him and Gloin took every opportunity to regal him with stories of his wife and son. He didn’t mind, really, but it wasn’t quite a conversation.

In the first weeks of their journey, the company became a unit. Which was probably a good thing, because they had plenty of obstacles to overcome. The first think that went wrong was the argument between Kili and Fili. While the two brothers were thick as thieves – Nori took no offence whenever people used this comparison – they were still individuals and both had hopes and dreams as well as opinions that differed. Still, it was shocking for the others to have their dinner disturbed by an angry roar.

“Take that back!” Kili had jumped to his feet, glaring daggers at his bother. Fili, his jaw locked in a mulish expression merely returned the glare before snuffing loudly and turning back to his food. “Why? You’re proving me right.” With that, the older prince returned to his food, seemingly dismissing his younger brother. The sentiment was not appreciated, which became clear seconds later, when the dark haired dwarf tackled Fili to the floor and punched him in the face. His expression resembled Thorin in a rage more than any of them had anticipated and Bilbo heard Balin gasp behind him. “Take. It. Back!” Every word was accompanied with a punch, even though Fili struggled beneath him, growling and snarling as his back bucked until he dislodged Kili and flipped him over. Words between them turned to nothing but guttural sounds until Thorin overcame his shock and stalked over to the two and grabbed them by the neck as he pulled them apart.

His furious expression, threatening as it was, wasn’t enough to break up the fury straight away and the brothers kept their eyes locked until their uncle spoke. “Explain.” The single word was spoken slowly and in the low tone of voice that betrayed Thorin’s fury. Both nephews wilted at that, though neither spoke. They simply shrunk down in his grasp until Kili actually twisted out of the hold and stalked out of the camp. Thorin, baffled, turned his eyes back towards Fili and raised his brow, but the blond remained silent until eventually the King released him and walked off with a disgusted sound.

Eventually, the company returned to their individual tasks of caring for the ponies, preparing dinner or working on their weapons. Dori was fixing a hole in Ori’s mitts, though his eyes kept flickering over to where the crown prince was brooding in his corner. The tension in their camp was high and Bilbo found himself restless and uncomfortable with the atmosphere. It was no surprise that he was the first to snap, leaving to find Kili.

 

-|-l -|-

 

The twanging sound of an arrow being loosed from a bow is what eventually led him to Kili’s location, though it wasn’t easy. He found himself scratched by branches and his hair snagged several times as he moved through the thick under-brush and tried to follow the young dwarf. Finally he entered a small clearing, only to blink at the sight he was met with. Kili’s eyes were red, his face marked by tears that he hastily scrubbed at with his sleeve when he spotted Bilbo. He’d been nocking another arrow onto his bow, which had clattered to the floor when Bilbo had entered the room.

“Bilbo! I was just…” His arm rose limply as he gestured towards the tree to his left. It was littered with arrows, some of them evidently fired in rage rather than the calm Kili usually possessed when he used his weapon. Bilbo nodded gently, then observed the dwarf with narrowed eyes. “What happened?”

The blunt question seemed to surprise Kili, for he blinked in shock before his face reddened in rage again. Lips thinning, eyes narrowing, he looked away. “Nothing.” Bilbo’s snort of disbelief caused his shoulders to draw closer together and tighten in tension. “Of course. That’s why you decided to pounce on your brother like an angry bear.” Hunched over at the tree, Kili began removing his arrows with more care than might have been expected with his current mood. The Hobbit eyed him for a moment, then sat down on a fallen tree and waited. He was patient.

Eventually the sound of creaking wood ceased and all that could be heard over the dim of the forest was Kili’s frustrated breathing, interspersed with the occasional sniffle. “It’s stupid.” He plopped down at the foot of the tree and gave Bilbo a brief glance before looking down again. His fingers busied themselves with the pile of arrows to his left and he started tending to them with the ease of habit. “Fili… Fili likes to remind me that he is older. And I usually don’t mind. I mean, I’m used to it.” He sounded almost defensive and Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if there was more behind the argument than that, but kept his silence. Having several Ranger acquaintances taught him that sometimes just listening was the best way to get an answer. “He said that… He called me the spare.” The final word was spat out with a bitter tone and twisted mouth.

Blinking, Bilbo shifted. “It’s not… I- He defended me! It’s something people sometimes said back at the Blue Mountains. That I was the extra prince. As if I’m kept around just in case Fili doesn’t work out. And he always defended me and said that the people saying it where jealous and petty and mean and now he said it.” His voice cracked towards the end of the sentence and his eyes filled up with a distinctive kind of shimmering as he lowered his head to look at the arrow in his hands. “He said… That I do stupid things sometimes. Rushed. And that he always had to be the one to save me because I’m hot-headed. That he’d die one day because of me and that I’d really be the spare.” There was such a desperation and devastation in the young dwarf’s voice that Bilbo couldn’t help but approach him and sit down next to him.

A hand made its way onto Kili’s knee and the silent sniffing turned into a sob as the youth leaned forward, placing his head between his knees. Bilbo simply stroked his back, making soothing noises until the keening sound Kili had been making subsided. “I don’t think he said that to hurt you. It was stupid of him to say it regardless, don’t get me wrong.” The muscles that had tensed up at the first words unwound slightly as Bilbo quickly continued. “I think Fili’s worried for you. I know that right now this is a great adventure and everything is exciting, but it will not always be this way. At the end of this path is a dragon. And while it is still far away, I think that Fili might be thinking about it more often than he lets on. And I think he fears losing you because he might not be on time to help you.” Or so Bilbo hoped. Because any other explanation made him want to get up and give Fili a sound telling off. Kids. He huffed softly, his nose wrinkling a little as he pulled a displeased face.

“You really think so?” The hope surrounded his heart like a vice and he felt himself move forward to hug Kili gently. He wasn’t sure if this was even something dwarves did, or if it was allowed or encouraged, but he couldn’t help himself. Kili stiffened, but eventually relaxed and sagged into his hold with a shuddering sigh. “I really think so.”

 

 

-|-l -|-

 

Fili felt awful. Wretched. So wretched, that as he cut himself on his dagger when he was cleaning it, he didn’t even stop his movements to tend to his wound which really wasn’t the brightest decision. His hand throbbed with pain and his sleeve was getting wet, but his movements only became more vicious rather than careful. It wasn’t until he yelped, the blade cutting through skin again and even deeper than before, that someone stopped him. The hand on his shoulder had him jump and he whirled around, ready to snarl at Balin, or his uncle, or even Dwalin. So when he looked into the hazel eyes of Nori, he bit back whatever words had been on his tongue and swallowed them before sitting down again. Nori didn’t speak, though he did crouch down in front of him and gently removed the blade from the white knuckled grip Fili had on it. Slowly, he dabbed at the blood, eyes inspecting the injury until he gave a disproving hum.

“Don’t-”

“You’ll ruin the blade like this. The purpose of cleaning it is ensuring that it doesn’t rust. Bleeding all over it like a gutted pig is hardly conducive to that end.” The words had been spoken with a hint of irritation, as if the dwarf had been insulted by the way he’d handled his dagger. And as he looked up, he realised that this was actually the case. Nori gave him an annoyed look before tying a piece of cloth around the wounds. “Let Oin look at these later. You’ll be useless if your hands are damaged.” The words stung, made him flinch. As he looked at the thief again, he realised the other looked more than annoyed. He looked angry. And as a cold feeling settled in his gut, he realised that out of their entire company, Nori probably had the best ears. His face flushed in shame and he looked away, only to have his chin trapped by fingers far stronger than he had expected.

When the other spoke again, his voice was a low hiss of barely restrained fury. “You are a fool.” The grip tightened and he wanted to wince but didn’t dare to show a single sign of weakness. His eyes where wide open and he stared at Nori in shock. He couldn’t remember the thief speaking to him before, outside of the occasional ‘clean this’ or ‘give me that’. “You know… If I had said such a thing to Ori, I’d be upside down, bleeding profusely and begging for mercy right now. And I wouldn’t get it.” His lips twisted into a sneer before he cuffed Fili on the back of his head. Hard. The curse and subsequent whine were ignored in favour of fingers tightening around his wrist. “Don’t make me string you up. Because I will, prince or no.” Before he could protest, the thief was gone and it was almost as if he had never been there at all if not for the cloth around his hand and the bruises blooming on his chin.

 

 

-|-l -|-

 

Kili was feeling better. A little bit, at least. Bilbo was kind and didn’t pressure him into either talking to or forgiving Fili, which was a nice change. He just sat and listened and offered support and comfort. Kili soaked it up like a sponge, basking in the attention as he told him about his bow and how he ended up using such an un-dwarfish weapon. Just as he got to the part where he accidentally shot his uncle, his face froze, then fell. “Fili.”

The older brother shuffled his feet sheepishly before looking at Bilbo. The pleading look in his eyes had the Hobbit roll his eyes, though he did rise and dust off his pants. “Right then. I’ll be getting myself some dinner. Boys.” Nodding at both, he quickly left the clearing. Kili scowled at him, feeling slightly abandoned. As Fili crept closer though, he stiffened and picked up another arrow to smooth over the tip, sharpening it.

An uncomfortable silence hung between them, filled with tension, unspoken things and apologies. Fili eventually came even closer and occupied the same tree Bilbo had chosen earlier. His elbows came to rest upon his knees as he leant forward, eyes trained on his brother’s nimble fingers. Another minute passed, then he spoke. “When amad told me I was getting a sibling, she told me that I had to look out for you. And I have. Always.” Kili gave no sign of hearing him, but he was listening. “I have always worried about you too. And that’s been fine because there was never any real problems but this is different. And we can’t… You- There’s no time for clowning.” He sounded regretful and frustrated as he brought up his hands and tangled his fingers in his mass of hair. A soft groan sounded before he exhaled loudly. “I can’t lose you.”

Kili’s fingers finally stopped moving and he drew his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it until it felt bruised and painful. “There are more ways to lose people than through death.” The words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them and he flinched, as did Fili. “I know.” The softly whispered words told him what he needed to know, though, and he looked up. A flash of concern at the bruising on his brother’s face made him pause before he continued. “You can’t say stupid shit like that.” Another flinch and he watched Fili’s fingers tighten in his locks.

With a sigh, Kili rose from his position and moved closer to his brother until he stood in front of him. Slowly he reached out and wrapped his own fingers around Fili’s, gently untangling them. When the elder brother released a distressed sound, he shushed him and stepped even closer. With a choked sob, Fili pressed his face into Kili’s stomach, arms wrapped around his waist as he pulled him close. Kili just deflated, feeling his anger seeping from his body as he brought both of his hands up to cradle Fili’s head against his body.

 

-|-l -|-

 

When the brothers returned to the camp later that night, no one said anything about their fight. Bombur offered them both a bowl of stew, Oin grunted in irritation while treating their injuries and complained about their block-headed stupidity while Thorin just eyed them critically from his spot near the fire. As Fili looked around, he frowned. Nori wasn’t there. He was nearby, he didn’t doubt that at all. And when he spotted a dash of red in the tree above him when he bedded down for the night, he liked to think that Nori would be pleased with his actions.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. All rights to Tolkien, Peter Jackson and whomever else owns a piece of the Hobbit pie.

Four days later found them on the road still. While they were all quite used to travelling on pony back, there were still the occasional grumbles about saddle-sores, the stones in their backs and the occasional bump in the road that demanded their attention. Thorin and Bifur had just finished giving Nori’s pony a new shoe when the attack took place. The relaxed atmosphere shattered when a group of bandits surged from the forest, blades waving furiously and screams destroying what had been a peaceful afternoon.

Instantly the dwarves fell into their battle stances, drawing swords, axes and other weaponry before engaging the bandits. The first to meet steel were Bofur and Gloin, who had been closest. It was evident that Gloin had seen battle on numerous occasions; his movements were fluent and smooth, axe whirling around and crushing blades and armour as if they were mere paper. His battle roar caused his opponents to pause before the shouted commands of their leader spurred them on. Bofur however, was not faring nearly as well. The miner had raw talent at his disposal and while he was not unskilled at wielding his mattock, it was clear that he had no formal training, nor had he experienced a lot of battles.

It wasn’t long into the fight that Bifur came to his cousin’s assistance and shouted something in a language none of those present could understand – if it had been a language at all - while skewering two bandits onto his battle spear. Bofur exhaled before throwing him a grin and Bifur nodded before continuing onwards, leaping into the battle with an eagerness that surprised the bandits. Fili guarded Kili and Ori as the younger of the two princes fired arrow after arrow from the back of their group and Thorin fought side by side with Balin as they sought to drive the bandits back. The others were all soon involved as well, even Gandalf having been dragged into the fight.

Bilbo, however, had not joined in. He hadn’t even been spotted by the bandits, small as he was. He would have taken offense to this – he was no shorter than the dwarves! – if it wasn’t convenient. Minutes into the battle he had spotted the leader, hanging back near the line of trees that had hidden their approach. As such, it had been quick work for him to sneak over and behind the man. Tree climbing was not something he’d done under duress before, but his skills served him just fine regardless. It took seconds to manoeuvre himself close enough to drop behind the man and onto his horse, a blade to his throat. “I suggest you call them off. Now.”

The stiffening of shoulders told him that his surprise had been successful; the man had no idea he had been coming and as such would have to take several precious moments to recover and come up with a plan. Moments Bilbo did not plan on giving him. He pressed the blade closer to the artery, drawing blood. “I said: Now.”

The shout the man gave had the bandits look up in surprise and shock, before their expressions turned to anger and then fury. Some of them continued fighting, but where quickly disposed of and the company made quick work of disarming and restraining the remaining fighters. The leader was relieved from his Hobbit captor by Nori, who gave Bilbo an appreciative and contemplating look. It was clear he had surprised the dwarf in some way, but the Hobbit wasn’t quite in the mind-set that allowed him to enjoy such a thing. The second his feet touched the ground he dropped the blade and ran.

Bifur had been about to follow him, concerned, but Nori’s hold on his elbow stopped him. He arched a brow at the redhead who just shook his head and jerked his chin toward the trees beyond. It was nearly impossible to hear over the dim of chatter and clang of metal, but the retching sound reached their ears nonetheless. Bifur grimaced in sympathy and nodded at Nori before giving him a pat on the shoulder in gratitude. “Later. He might want some water.” Bifur gave an affirmative jerk of his head and left, likely in search of a water skin.

 

-|-l -|-

 

The leader had been only too willing to comply with their wishes once it became clear that Nori had absolutely no problem with hurting him. Once he’d demonstrated that he could indeed make the man bleed without ever touching him – and hadn’t that been a fascinating thing to watch, Kili all leaning forward and eyes glued onto the thief’s hands until Dwalin had hollered at him to get back to gathering wood for a fire – he’d broken down and told Nori exactly what he wanted to know.

They had been told of a group of dwarves traveling these lands. No one had mentioned that they had been this well geared though even then they had expected that they’d be able to overrun them with their number. He didn’t know where the rumours came from and he didn’t know anything else, but he had been told there was quite the reward in it for those that delivered them. Alive. And that didn’t sit well with Nori. As he poked at his stew and chewed the inside of his cheek pensively, he wondered who could possibly want the company alive. Surely anyone who would know about their goal would attempt to stop them without regard of their survival.

After a moment, he grunted in annoyance and stood. Bombur gave him a concerned look and he sent him a wan smile to reassure him before disappearing into the trees once again. He needed to think. The camp was too busy for him, and as he wove his way through the trees he felt his mind clear. Breathing in deeply, his lungs full of the smell of forest, he felt his tight muscles unwind slowly. Too many people. Nori never liked crowds. He’d preferred the solitude and quiet. Ori would be shocked to hear that Nori had spent nearly as much time in the library as the scribe himself. He liked to watch his younger brother as he worked. The joy on his face settled and filled a hole inside his own chest that he always pretended not to feel.

Ori was safe. Ori was well taken care of. And if Dori occasionally looked the other way when Nori came home with a coin purse far heavier than it should be, so be it. He and Dori had never fought. Never once. Despite the fact that Dori did not like that his brother turned to illegal means for money, he did not deny that it gave the youngest Ri a future neither one of them would have been able to give him. And so Nori stole and Dori pretended he didn’t know. His own business provided them with the bare minimum and without Nori bringing home ‘a little extra’ every now and then Ori would never have been able to pursue his dreams.

When he reached a clearing, he sighed. There was far too much at stake here. Settling against a tree, he drew his pipe out of his coat pocket and lit it, puffing at it and sending the smoke upwards in small tendrils that clawed at the leaves. He didn’t know how long he had been there, staring up at the sky, but he did know the exact moment he was no longer alone.

“Your younger brother was looking for you.” The gruff voice and heavy accent would have been a dead give-away if he wasn’t already fully aware of who stood behind him.

Nori hummed softly before replying. “I’ll talk to him later.” The small hint of worry that coloured his voice was politely ignored by the tall guard. Dwalin didn’t speak beyond that first sentence, merely sat next to him and started packing his own pipe. After his third attempt to light it, Nori wordlessly offered his own. After a silence that stretched between them like a rope pulled taught, Dwalin accepted it and stowed his own pipe away again.

They sat silently for what seemed like hours, trading the pipe back and forth without looking at one another until finally Nori broke the silence. “Bilbo surprised me today.”

Dwalin nodded solemnly, his heavy brows lowering just a tiny bit. “Aye.” Nori glanced to his left before smiling softly and looking at the start again.

 

-|-l -|-

 

Bifur had located a water skin faster than expected. Now he stood silently at the line of trees, debating with himself on whether or not he should go looking for the Hobbit now or give him a little more time. His decision was soon made for him, as a curly mop of hair all but ran into him. Bilbo gasped and looked up, eyes still red rimmed before he stammered an apology. “I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t- There…” Bifur just held up the skin and gave him a friendly smile before shaking his head.

The sagging of shoulders and grateful look he was given were enough for him. He placed a gentle hand on the Hobbit’s shoulders as the burger spat out some water and then gulped down even more. “T-… Thank you. I didn’t… think anyone saw.” With his eyes remaining downcast, Bilbo shuffled his feet, shame colouring the tips of his ears in a vivid red. Bifur simply huffed softly and curled his fingers around the shoulder a little tighter. Bilbo looked up, furrowing his brow as Bifur gestured at him. “Oh, no. I’m not… not that brave. I was sick all over the forest.” A self-deprecating sound escaped him and he looked away until Bifur’s soft chuckle pulled his eyes back. The dwarf gestured for him to follow and with a reluctant sigh he did.

Bifur on his part was simply surprised by the lack of regard Bilbo seemed to have for himself. Just because he did not fight in the conventional way, he had saved lives today. Perhaps on the field of battle, it wasn’t always acceptable to ‘stab someone in the back’ but then this attack had been cowardly to begin with, so no honour was lost. In fact, if he was correct, Nori would have done the same. But then, Bilbo didn’t seem to think as they did. Was it indeed the manner in which he had won that bothered him? He glanced at the morose Hobbit at his side and gestured something at him within his field of vision. Bilbo blinked again, then looked up at the dwarf. He bit his lower lip and gave him a faint smile.

“I’ll be fine, Bifur, thank you. It’s just that… Even with all my adventuring, I’m a Hobbit. I know how to fight – a little bit – and I don’t mind defending myself if I need to, but today I… He was defenceless and I drew his blood.” His voice softened to a whisper. “And the worst part is that if he hadn’t told his men to put down their weapons, I would have killed him.” A shudder ran through his body and Bifur felt a profound sense of guilt for ever turning up at Bilbo Baggins’s doorstep. He stopped then and turned towards Bilbo. His hand on his shoulder forced the shorter of the two to stop as well. Bifur didn’t speak Westron. He couldn’t even speak modern Khuzdul. But he had become very expressive since gaining the axe to his head. He didn’t speak, did not gesture. He simply looked at Bilbo and then smiled as the Hobbit released a soft sob.

 

-|-l -|-

 

He was overwhelmed by the gratitude and understanding he could see. His eyes started tearing up and his lungs felt as if they were squashed under a great weight when those silvery-grey eyes settled on his face. He only managed a watery smile and a nod in reply before the two of them finally made their way back to camp. And if his dreadful state was noticed by anyone, they didn’t mention it. Fili and Kili immediately sat him down between the two of them and gave him loads of stew and some waybread while Bifur sat next to a preening Bofur. He flushed slightly, but then accepted his own stew with a grin and began eating quietly.

 

-|-l -|-

 

When Nori and Dwalin returned to the camp hours later, Thorin took Dwalin apart immediately, retreating with both the guard and Balin to discuss their route with Gandalf. Nori sighed in contentment as he sat next to the fire, letting the heat seep into his cold limbs. The night was quite cold already and while the forest had helped him clear his mind, he had also felt increasingly chilly. When Dwalin had risen up and extended a hand, he’d been quick to accept it. He was always loathe to admit any sort of weakness. The guards back in Ered Luin had only been too keen on using them against him; he grew cold rather easily and it took a long time before he warmed up again. Whenever he refused to give up those he worked with or what he had done, they would deliberately lock him in the coldest cell they had and kept him there for days. If not for Dwalin, he mused, he might not ever have been able to come along on this quest. For all that Dwalin was a member of the Royal Guard, he was no monster. In fact, he was one of the more fair guards that Nori dealt with.

Another glance across the campfire allowed him to see the back of the tattooed head and he felt a small smile creep over his lips before he ducked his head. Finishing his stew – finally – he moved the bowl over to Bombur who had been cleaning them while chatting to Dori about something or other. His brother gave him a nod and he returned it, feeling a strange sort of peace wash over him despite the fighting that had taken place that day.

He moved his pack closer to the flames and began unrolling his bedroll, keen on getting a spot close to the fire for once. He’d pull on warmer clothes tomorrow so that he wouldn’t be as reliant on the fire, but for tonight it wouldn’t be a bad idea to indulge himself a little. It wasn’t until he returned from tending to his pony that he noticed the extra blanket on his bedroll. He blinked at it in surprise and looked around the camp with narrowed eyes, suspicion immediately putting him on guard. When he spotted Fili, he paused and cocked his head to the side in question. Fili looked back, gave a nonchalant shrug with his left shoulder and turned back to the conversation he was having with his brother. Nori smirked and rolled his shoulders back before crawling under the blankets to catch some sleep before his watch arrived.

 

-|-l -|-

 

The bandits had been left without armour, weapons, money and food, though their water skins were simply tied above their heads. Tied up and half naked, horseless – for Gandalf had set free what steeds they could find – and poor, they wouldn’t be a threat to the company any time soon. They left the camp at dawn, keenly aware of the time they had lost by breaking for the night sooner than expected and anticipated.

Thorin drove them on relentlessly and snarled at any who even looked at him funnily. Bilbo had a rather affronted expression on his face; he’d asked Thorin whether he planned to arrive at the Lonely Mountain tomorrow rather than in a few months and had gotten a snarky reply that made even Balin blink before he guffawed with laughter. It wasn’t too bad, really. They spent a bit more time trotting and less walking, but the ponies were all used to it and didn’t jar their riders too much. Myrtle even enjoyed the chance to stretch her legs a little and kept her head raised high, to Bilbo’s amusement.

Of course the fact that things weren’t too bad should have been the first warning. When the sky rumbled before releasing a waterfall of rain onto the company, there was a flurry of activity as everyone quickly pulled on their oilskins and huddled down on their pony even more. It wasn’t even that bad at first. They had been warmed up from the ride when the rain hit and managed to secure the water resistant material around their bodies quick enough. Nonetheless, when the rain hadn’t let up three days later, everyone was miserable. Bofur had been trying to light his pipe for the past hours and failing when Dori asked Gandalf if he could do something about the rain. The snippy reply made them all grumble and try to burrow further into the last remaining dry parts of their clothes.

 

-|-l -|-

 

Shivering, Bilbo contemplated the wisdom of moving even closer to the fire. He knew logically that it would be, in fact, one of the more unwise things he would have ever done, but right now that didn’t matter too much to him. He was cold. He was wet. His clothes were wet and his bags and his spare clothes. Everything was wet. The company had finally found shelter that would serve to keep them all dry until the rain stopped. The cave had probably been inhabited by some sort of predator at some point, going by the number of dry and brittle old bones in the back, but whomever used to live there was long gone now. Bilbo had moved quickly and used the rope he’d brought along to make some sort of washing line, putting his blanket on it. At first, he’d planned on following that with his cloak and clothes, but looking around he changed his mind.

While he’d agreed to join them, he hadn’t expected that he would actually like as many of them as he had. And while it might be tentative, he felt that he was beginning to form something of a friendship with most of the company. As he spotted Fili, Kili and Ori huddled together, evidently not as cold-resistant as the older dwarves, he sighed and picked his way over to the trio. “Lads, you’ll want to strip down as much as possible; get out of those wet clothes. I’ll dry your blankets over there and then afterwards we can put our clothes and such up, okay?” He had crouched down with his back towards Nori, who kept a keen eye on them. A twitch of the lips followed before the redhead turned back to the small fire he was tending. Hobbits.

Fili and Kili looked up at him with wide open and thankful eyes as Ori ducked his head and muttered a thank you. The three were quick in handing over their blankets and another look from Bilbo saw to it that their wet clothes hit the cave floor with a wet splat. The two brothers had been nigh on inseparable since their fight, almost as if they wanted to make sure that there was no lasting hurt. Fili seemed to actually think before speaking while Kili made sure to offer Fili the first bowl of soup. Their tentative smiles were cheesy enough to make Bilbo roll his eyes. He didn’t mind it, of course. It was just that he was certain it wouldn’t last for long. He moved around, busying himself with the hanging up of cloaks, hanging Ori’s next to Fili’s and Kili’s. Peering at the rest of the company as they huddle around, there was an unspoken agreement that the boys and the Hobbit would be allowed to dry their cloaks first, even if only because they suffered from the wet cold the most. The rest huddled together in groups, brothers pairing up with brothers. Dori and Nori all but squished Ori in between them, ignoring his muffled complaints, while Gloin grumped as he slung an arm around Oin. Bombur was once more functioning as a pillow for his family, both Bifur and Bofur curled up and resting against his gut. The sight of Dwalin and Balin made his lips twitch up a little. Dwalin had his arms wrapped around his older brother, as if guarding him against the cold. He also seemed to be ignoring the thief pressed up to his side. Fili and Kili were burrowing into their uncle’s side. Thorin had an arm around his nephews, but his eyes were focused on Bilbo.

Again, Bilbo felt the twinge of regret as he observed the group. Even though he was welcome in their company, there was still a difference between him and them. They were all related. Family. And moments like this served to push that matter home far more than he liked. Even if Nori and Dori were muttering angrily at each other, they still held Ori. And even though Gloin seemed annoyed, he still held Oin. And he thought that it wasn’t too bad, but he felt excluded. And this time he didn’t have a room to retreat to and give in to a cry. He was about to do the next best thing though, hunkering down next to the fire, when Bofur kicked his shin.

“Come on. Bombur is big enough for three. And you’re tiny.” Bofur jested as he wriggled to the side.

The cocky grin made Bilbo grit his teeth, though the truth was that he was cold. With an annoyed sound, he made his way over to Bofur, giving Bifur a small smile and Bombur a grateful nod. “Thank you. And I’m not tiny.”

He got several snorts and one chuckle, though the temperature in the cave was finally starting to rise. Soft conversation whispered around the rock and flame. The atmosphere wasn’t unpleasant, With Oin releasing the occasional bark of laughter as Gloin regaled him with tales of Gimli’s youth and Kili snickering as Fili received a smack to the back of his head from his uncle.

“So… Is anyone going to make something to eat, cause I’m not letting Bombur get up. Just so you know it.” Bofur stretched and smirked at the others, only to blink in surprise as Kili got up to paw at his cloak.

When the young prince deemed it dry enough, he pulled it around his shoulders and sat in front of the fire with a small grin. “While Fili would probably poison you-” the outcry from his brother went ignored, “I can probably fix us up something.” Fili snorted and received another smack for it, though it was far gentler than the previous one.

When Kili finally got around to passing out the food he’d prepared which, in all honesty, did smell kind of nice, Bilbo was the first to receive a bowl. He had been dozing rather nicely against the rotund dwarf, thinking that this was the most comfortable mattress on the road so far. When Kili offered him food first, even before Thorin, he couldn’t help but give him a surprised blink. Kili just shrugged sheepishly and leaned forward slightly. “Thank you.” When his eyes flickered over towards his older brother, Bilbo gave him a small smile in return.

“Anytime.”


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too happy with the troll fight, I'll be honest, but after rewriting it a gazillion times and then staring at it... I gave up >_>

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. All rights to Tolkien, Peter Jackson and whomever else owns a piece of the Hobbit pie.

 

-|-l -|-

 

When the rain finally came to an end, everyone was relieved. The entire week had been wet. There had been very few chances to dry themselves and their clothes and it hadn’t taken long before even the ponies were annoyed. Luckily everything had to end eventually and so did the rain. The company stopped travelling the moment the skies cleared and found a rather nice meadow to make camp. The sun broke through with a radiance that had even the mountain dwellers sigh with appreciation.

The ponies were unsaddled and set loose after Bofur and Bifur had assisted Bilbo with the setting up of a quick paddock. The clever use of rope and dead wood that the storm and rains had forced from the trees, they built an enclosure for their beasts of burden, Bilbo directing the two far stronger dwarves as they did the heavy lifting. The Hobbit had blushed at the praise he had received for his quick thinking and most of the company came to see the ponies running and rolling around. The improvised fence soon doubled as a laundry line as they all draped their wet things over it and allowed the sun to dry it.

The rest of the morning was spent relaxing. While Nori helped Fili and Kili set up some snares for rabbits and other small game, Bilbo had demonstrated to the dwarves how they could use horsehair to create fishing lines. They used the bendy branches from a nearby willow for rods and Thorin surprised everyone by producing a small leather bag with hooks they could use. While the prince had initially been reluctant to interact with his company – or so it had seemed, at least – he had slowly but surely started to do so. As such, here, a little over three weeks after leaving the Shire, Thorin Oakenshield stood on the banks of a slow babbling distributary channel of the River Hoarwell. He, like many others, was clad in nothing but his breeches. Even his boots were currently upside down and placed on sticks. Bilbo thought it looked like a very skinny man who had stuck his head into the grass, which set Ori off in a fit of giggles as the young dwarf instantly imagined Thorin doing so. Pity the lad for having a vivid imagination, for he was unable to look at Thorin after this.

Bilbo had decided not to join the dwarves, deciding instead to go and do some laundry. A bar of soap wrapped in waxed paper had done wonders for his clothes and he was quite pleased with his work. Nearly all of his things, including his blanket and the linen bag he used to make himself a pillow every night, were now fresh and hung out to dry. With that done, he decided that the only thing he still needed, or rather wanted, was a bath.

He gave Nori a wave and motioned towards the bend in the river, but made surely to leave only when Nori had given him a thumbs up from where he was skinning a rabbit. Humming softly to himself, the Hobbit began stripping down from the linen shirt and the last semi-clean breeches he had owned. His body had never been as round and soft as that of other Hobbits, but now he didn’t even look like a Hobbit any more. A soft frown tugged at his lips as he poked his belly and found only a little fat there. I not for his feet, he could have passed for a dwarf, maybe. The water was not as cold as he expected it to be, but then it was spring. Still he shivered as he waded towards the deeper bit until he was submerged to the waist. He dipped down quickly and started scrubbing at his arms and legs with the soap when he suddenly noticed that he could just see the dwarves from there. With a soft sounding squeak he stepped back a bit, hiding behind a boulder.

When he was sure that they hadn’t seen him, he peeked back out at them curiously. Thorin flexed his arms as he cast his line again and Bofur’s stomach had more muscles than his entire body, surely. Nope. He clearly overestimated himself, for he looked nothing like the dwarves. And while that meant that he was still more Hobbit than dwarf, the knowledge didn’t actually please him as much as he thought it would. With a sigh he tugged his grubby braid over his shoulder and began unravelling the by now nearly coarse rope of hair. It used to be rather lovely and soft, falling to his back in shapely curls whenever he left it untied. Now, though, it resembled Myrtle’s tail more than his hair and he washed and combed it until it was clean once more.

After that, he decided that taking advantage of the sun for once would not be misplaced at all. Tugging on his smalls, he reclined in the grass next to the water and closed his eyes with a sigh. The grass had been wet earlier, but the sun was determined to clear away all evidence of rain and had dried it nicely. It didn’t surprise Bilbo that he was woken up by a soft touch to his shoulder a little later.

Blinking up at Nori’s face, he smiled softly. “I fell asleep?”

The thief nodded before plonking himself down next to the Hobbit. “While I don’t blame you, I suggest still being careful. There’s things out there.” His head nodded towards the line of trees across the water and to their right before he leaned back on his elbows.

Bilbo followed his gaze and swallowed heavily, remembering the ambush they had been victims of not too long ago. His thoughts must have been written all over his face, as Nori gave him a calculating look. “Have you ever killed a man?”

The Hobbit nodded softly. “Twice before. Once I was with the Rangers, near the South Downs. We were travelling from Sarn Ford towards Weathertop to check the posts that they use for animals and such.” At Nori’s rather uncomprehending look, he rolled his eyes and sat up, crossing his legs as he motioned towards the sand near the water and drew in it with a stick. “The Shire is not very defensible. Not just because of the way it’s built, but because Hobbits by nature are not a violent people. They like gardening and cooking, celebrating every single little thing that happens and gossiping. If someone were to attack the Shire, we’d be defenceless.”

Peering at the rudimentary map Bilbo had drawn, Nori nodded. “I can see that, yeah. You live in this part, right?”

Bilbo snorted softly before shaking his head and poking the other end of the map. “Right here. As you can see, there is a lot of land surrounding us. Most of it is unoccupied or empty, though there is the Old Forest of Buckland. Behind the Shire, to the east, are the Grey Havens and your mountains. Or, well, temporary mountains. And this way is Bree. Mostly people leave us alone, but every now and then Men come to the Shire to bully Hobbits out of silver or gold. A few decades ago we even had wolves in the Shire. They killed my mother.” An uncomfortable pause fell before Bilbo gave Nori a small smile and continued. “The Rangers keep us safe. They’ve kept posts all around the Shire in various tactical positions.” He poked his stick around the Shire, marking spots as he went. “I only know of some, not all of them, but they are well hidden and big enough to house two Rangers, their mounts and a small store of food. Very clever, they are.”

The dwarf was still staring at the map, index finger and thumb fingering the bead around his chin beard. Bilbo couldn’t help but stare at it curiously. After a moment, Nori looked up at him. “You know how they build them.” Not what he expected, to be honest. Still, as he began explaining how the Rangers set up their little hide-outs, Nori silently dug around in one of his pouches. Eventually, he handed Bilbo a vial of what looked like oil. The Hobbit accepted it, though he didn’t interrupt his story until he had finished it.

“So, what do I do with this?” He held up the oil and Nori smirked.

“A number of things, though I offered it to you for your hair.” The red-head motioned at the now nearly dry curls. “Looks dry. You’ve not been tending to it very well, the oil will help. Just a little bit, though.”

Pleased, Bilbo pressed the uncorked vial to the palm of his hand and tipped it over. He repeated this a few times before setting the oil aside and rubbing his hands together. The subtle herbal scent was rather pleasing, he decided. He worked the oil into his hair as Nori returned to studying his map and eventually began drawing his own maps next to and around the little Shire map. His hair practically soaked up the oil and felt a lot better when he finished. The result was that his hair was softer than it had been in weeks and after he had combed it out with his fingers until it was smooth, he quickly braided it into a five-strand gathered braid. Nori peered at him unabashedly, observing the deftness of his fingers.

“You are good at that.”

Bilbo blinked at the dwarf before looking down at where he had just tied off his braid. “Oh. Well, yes. I’ve had long hair for quite a long time. Back home I do wash my hair quite a lot more than I do on the road, you know?” He gave Nori an amused look before straightening and looking at Nori’s work. “Erebor?”

Looking down at his maps, Nori shrugged. “What I know of it. I wasn’t even born yet when Smaug came. But Dori was. He fled with our mam, though he was barely out of his toddler years at that point.” Bilbo hummed. Somewhere he knew that it had been a long time, hearing that the people he had been travelling with weren’t even born yet still surprised him. He glances over to where Thorin and Balin were sat, gutting fish. When Dwalin joined them, he couldn’t help but wonder how old they were when the dragon came to Erebor. When Nori continued, he focused on him once more. “Eh. It’s just wishful thinking, I guess.” The red-head grinned before dropping the stick and rising. “Lunch?”

 

-|-l -|-

 

The next day they rose before the sun did. The ponies seemed refreshed, as did the company. On top of that, the break had allowed them to restock their supplies. Berries, roots and wild mushrooms alongside some smoked fish and a brace of coneys. Two nights later they arrived at a burnt out farm. While the evening had started out alright, Gandalf had stormed off shortly after the camp had been set up. And while Bilbo certainly had no fuzzy feelings towards the wizard, his absence didn’t sit well with him. In the end, he busied himself with practising the moves Dwalin and Fili had shown him earlier. The two of them had been training him up since the moment they left the Shire. While he had some rudimentary skills before, he had always preferred the use of the bow over sword and dagger. He did understand why they wanted him to be able to use close range weaponry as well.

He hadn’t appreciated it much in the beginning, feeling rather as if they thought him weak. He soon learned, however, that the more bruises he had at the end of the day, the less they were easy on him. This mollified him a bit, though at the same time the aches that plagued him when he finally went to sleep were more than unpleasant. He still felt accomplished, though. As such, he went through the motions every morning and every evening, often under the watchful eye of the former City Guard.

When he finished his exercises, Bombur motioned him over and smiled as he pressed two bowls of soup into Bilbo’s hands. “Take this over to the lads, would you, Bilbo? They could use a little fattening up.” He grinned and pat his own stomach.

With a chuckle, Bilbo made his way over to the two princes. He found them just outside the area where the ponies had been secured, rough housing a little. Amused, he stood and watched as Fili managed to get Kili into a headlock and started rubbing the top of his head wildly while Kili was flailing around with his long and gangly limbs. When Kili finally called out in defeat, they both dropped to the ground, panting and snickering.

“On watch, are you?” Bilbo’s slightly mocking question rang through the clearing and saw both dwarves jump to their feet with a flushed face. “Oh, don’t worry lads. I’m just here to bring you your dinner.”

They shared a sheepish grin before sitting down cross legged and eating. Bilbo sat with them for a while, laughing at their tales and antics. Just as he was about to head back to the main camp, Kili blinked at something in the distance. “Bilbo? The camp is that way, isn’t it?” The young dwarf pointed in the opposite direction and Bilbo nodded before creeping closer and following Kili’s gaze.

“It is indeed. I wonder…” Cocking his head, he bade both princes to stay. When they protested, he just gave them a glare and pointed at the floor until they sat down. “Dwarves are just about the least quiet folk around. You sound like a herd of oliphaunts when you try to sneak.” Kili puffed up slightly in indignation, but Fili just waved Bilbo on.

The Hobbit silently made his way towards the glinting light that Kili had spotted, careful to avoid dry twigs and rustling leaves as he went. The scent of something reeking became heavier in the air and his nose wrinkled slightly. It wasn’t until he had actually made it to the clearing that he realised what he had been smelling. “Trolls.” He hissed under his breath as he watched the three trolls sat around the fire. They were bickering back and forth to one another and Bilbo was immediately put off his own dinner as he spotted what looked like an arm –an arm! – sticking out of the cooking pot.

“Think ‘e’s done yet, eh, Bert?” One of them lurched forward a bit; fingers reaching out to dip into the pot, when the ugliest and vilest creature Bilbo had ever had the (dis)pleasure of laying eyes on turned and smacked the troll on the hand with a large spoon.

The slapped troll whined as he drew back his hand, but sat back down when ‘Bert’ glared at him. “Keep yer grabbly hands ter yerself, Tom? Ah knows cookin’ ent a skill erryone can erpreshiate, but yer shed knows betters then ter try an get yerself envolved with _my_ cookin’.” The cook turned back to his pot and grumbled something about needing more herbs when Bilbo decided he’d seen enough. Whomever that poor fellow was, they were obviously not going to be able to save them, so best they packed up and continued on foot, leading the ponies.

Making his way back to where he’d left Fili and Kili, it almost didn’t surprise him to find the two of them gone. He groaned and hurried on to the camp, praying the two lads weren’t stupid enough to follow him to the trolls. His prayers went unanswered. The minute he stepped out of the trees and into the main camp, his pale face and distressed groan must have alerted the others, for they all jumped up and went for their weapons while Dwalin and Thorin crowded poor Bilbo over to a tree, interrogating him on what was wrong.

Looking from one to the other, quite displeased about the position he found himself in, Bilbo ignored them, took a moment to gather himself and put his foot down. Both figuratively as physically. “Now, see here! I was… I was about to tell you and you will not even allow me the chance to speak! Far be it from me to know what goes on in the minds of dwarves, but if you want me to talk, I would appreciate you backing off, giving me some air and shutting up!”

A tense silence hung in the air for a moment and while Dwalin just frowned and glared at the Hobbit, at least Thorin had the decency to look somewhat abashed. “Apologies, Master Baggins.” The mutter mollified Bilbo a bit and he straightened.

“I brought Kili and Fili their dinner, when Kili spotted something. I told the lads to stay put and went to see what it was. Turns out it was trolls.” A murmur grew as the dwarves spoke to one another, tugging beards and looking up into the forest with speculative eyes. “There are three, cooking some poor traveller in a huge pot. I left to report to you, but Kili and Fili were gone.”

That got him a whole new reaction as Thorin immediately went for his blade and attempted to run off into the forest wildly, though thankfully Balin stopped him (and Dwalin, who had grunted but was in the process of following Thorin). “We can’t just storm over there, we need a plan.” Bilbo nodded, thinking the older dwarf very clever for this assessment. “We should send the burglar in to see what’s going on. With intelligence on the locations of the boys, we would be able to move forward.” That made Bilbo grimace, though he nodded.

“Alright. You need to stay back, though. They’ll surely hear you and then we’ll all be in trouble.” He gave the dwarves a stern look and waited for them to give their assent before he moved into the forest again.

 

-|-l -|-

 

Fili didn’t think his head had ever hurt as much as it did now. Pain bloomed from the back of his head all the way round to his temples, increasing whenever he tried to open his eyes. A gust of air escaped his lungs, though he bit his tongue to restrain the whimper that threatened to pour from his throat in favour of blearily looking around. Oh. So that’s what happened. His nose wrinkled slightly as he found himself nearly squashed by a troll, which meant that its behind was far too close to him than he would ever be comfortable with and he glanced around to try and see his brother.

The trouble was spared him, though, as he heard said brother give a whine of discomfort. “Oi, can’t ye shut up? This ent easy, y’know. Don’t want to hit summing that’ll have yer tubes bleedin’ shit all over.” The sound of the complaining troll gave Fili the courage he needed to wriggle forward a little to try and see around the troll, only to find that he wished he hadn’t. Kili was tied to a tree, hands together and above his head as he hung there, like a pig about to be bled. And with a cry of dismay he realised that was exactly what was about to happen. For the troll that had been identified by Bilbo as the Cook named Bert was sharpening a knife while one of the others had torn Kili’s tunic open, exposing his chest for the Cook.

At the sound of his cry, the trolls looked up and Fili was grabbed by the one that had been almost sitting on him and dragged around. “E’s awake, Bert. Can I eat ‘im now?” The hopeful tone caused Fili’s gut to churn unpleasantly and he faintly vowed to never disobey Bilbo ever again if he got out of this alive. Kili renewed his struggles as he spotted his brother, even though he was bleeding from a gash on his head, while Fili just squirmed in the hold until it threatened to grow so tight that his ribcage would cave in.

“Let him go!” Straining towards his younger brother, the crown prince failed to see the Hobbit sneak around the edge of the camp. Thankfully, so did the trolls, who merely blinked at Fili before laughing.

“We gota erselles anudder funny one, boys!” Bert laughed loudly, his voice booming over the camp-site as Kili flopped against the tree like a wet fish, trying to break free. It was, therefore, a surprise to all when Kili’s rope snapped and the dwarf fell to the ground with a thud. All three trolls looked up and at Kili, blinking their eyes and trying to figure out what just happened, when the Cook snarled and bared his teeth. “Thers more o’ them!”

Bert readied his knife in front of him as if he was going into battle, while Tom threw down Fili and picked up a tree branch. Fili wheezed and gasped for breath, but moved away from the trolls until the third one stepped on his hair and pinned him, ignoring the pained cry. This seemed to be the sign the dwarves had needed, for they came into the camp screaming and shouting, attacking the trolls at the legs as Bilbo had suggested. While they were all familiar with fighting taller folk than they themselves were, trolls were on a whole new level.

Bilbo, in the meantime, darted around and managed to release both Fili and Kili from their bonds and dragged into the tree line. They were soon joined by Bifur, though the dwarf did so by being launched into the air and crashing into a tree right next to Bilbo, who squeaked and dropped Fili on top of Kili. Twin cries of pain jarred him into moving again, while Bifur simply roared and ran back into the fray with his spear raised.

Finally safe, Fili curled protectively around Kili, holding and shushing his brother as they hunkered down behind a tree. The battle was still going behind them, for the sounds reached them loud and clear. “It’s okay, Kee. Uncle will win and you’ll not be gutted. I promise.” Kili managed a weak snort even as he burrowed his face in his brother’s neck with a shiver. “Don’t laugh at me, I mean it.” Bilbo looked at the both of them and nodded before vanishing from sight, prompting Fili to huddle against the wood a bit further to avoid detection.

“It’ll be okay.”

 

-|-l -|-

 

There was a plan. Or, at least, there had been a plan. Bilbo told the dwarves where the princes were being held and what their status was. It was agreed that they would call for a distraction, Bilbo would provide it and the dwarves would stream in behind the trolls and kills them as quick as possible. They would go for the legs in case of prolonged combat and try to finish it as soon as possible. When Thorin had spotted his nephews, however, and seen the state Kili was in when Bilbo cut him loose, he’d seen red. His blood rushed in his ears, fury took over and he was screaming in Khuzdul halfway across the camp before he realised it.

Thankfully the others had followed, or he’d have been in a tremendously awkward situation. As it was, they were struggling to win. One of the trolls had been overwhelmed by dwarves. They managed to cut him in the backs of his knees and he’d stumbled, allowing for them to swarm over him and taking him out with a stab to the neck. The other two seemed to be on the alert from that moment on, because they didn’t give the dwarves the chance to get behind them.

Fighting back to back, the trolls were an enemy of note. The dwarves were dancing and jeering around them in circles, trying to get some distance between the two, but so far they were unsuccessful. With the two trolls having unfairly long arms, it was virtually impossible for the dwarves to get near them. It was, as such, a good thing that their fight was dragged out as it was. Both parties were exhausting the other, neither giving in to the other. The trolls were covered in lacerations and bruises, though none excessive enough to bring them down. The dwarves, while greater in number, needed every single man to keep the trolls from crushing them. With desperation seeping in, everyone cried out in relief when Gandalf appeared and poured sunlight into the clearing by cracking open a rock as if it had been an egg.


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea. All rights to Tolkien, Peter Jackson and whomever else owns a piece of the Hobbit pie.

 

-|-l -|-

 

Thorin found Fili and Kili clinging to one another about thirty paces from the Troll camp. The tree they were under would have hidden them from the great, hulking beasts, but Thorin was able to spot them fast enough. His heart had nearly given out when he had realised that his two sister-sons had not been with them, until Bilbo pointed him towards the forest. Seeing them alive and in relatively good condition, though, he was unable to restrain a sound of relief. Fili looked up at him then, and the future King all but tore his way through the various bushes and over to his nephews, flinging his arms around them and drawing them into a massive hug. “Thank Mahal that you are all right. I thought…” Fili shuddered against him, releasing a sigh, while Kili just burrowed into his uncle with a sob.

There were no words to describe his relief, at no point in his life had he ever felt the way he did just then. And when he stroked the top of Kili’s head, shushing him softly while curling his fingers protectively around Fili’s neck, he realised something. Bilbo had sent them here. His eyes flickered over to where he could hear his men dance and sing and they narrowed in thought. “Fili?” When his heir looked up at him, Thorin could not hold back the small smile at the look in his nephew’s eyes. He knew he didn’t smile a lot. Not even for these two, not in public. But right now, he was no prince or future king. He was an uncle with his two beloved boys. “How did you get here?” He nodded at the tree and waited for Fili to clear his throat.

The blond haired dwarf looked around, then laid his head back on his uncle’s shoulder, soaking up the attention for a little while longer. When they returned to camp, it would be over again, unless the night was cold. “Bilbo took us here. He dragged us over, I think… Bifur helped? It went so fast.” He looked up at Thorin apologetically, but sighed as his uncle just nodded and pulled his close again.

“Then I owe him my gratitude.” Eventually, he pulled their faces up to his and pressed his forehead against theirs gently. “Though you should be aware that I am very, very displeased with you two.” He waited for their usual rounds of protest and was almost shocked when he got two meek nods instead. His lips curled up again where they could not see. Perhaps this journey was what they needed after all. They would grow up and realise that the world wasn’t all that pretty, but at the same time, he would be there to make sure that they would not fall.

 

-|-l -|-

 

Once the three made it back to camp, it seemed that the rest of the company had ran inventory of the Troll’s belongings. Oin was tending to the wounded; Gloin had a rather nasty gash in his head, Bombur was walking with a limp and Bofur was holding a piece of cloth to his waist with a sulky expression on his face. Possibly the worst thing to see, though, was Nori. The dwarf had retreated to the campfire, holding his right arm close to his torso and refusing to let anyone see it. Dori was stood next to him, looking rather frazzled, while Ori was kneeling in front of his brother, speaking to him in low, pleading tones. The red-haired dwarf just shook his head, looking even more recalcitrant as he curled up further.

Dwalin was watching all this with a thunderous expression on his face. Crossing his arms, he leant back against a tree and proceeded to glare at Nori with all he had in him. Admittedly, that was a rather impressive look. It seemed that Nori was just as set on ignoring him as he was denying that he needed help, however, so impressive or not, it went unnoticed. Almost. “You know you can just go over there, right?” Bilbo’s voice startled the warrior out of his glaring and forced him to look to his right and down.

“Huh?” Inwardly, he flinched. That was just the way to convince people that he was not all muscle and no brain. Then he realised he didn’t care and his face twisted into a glare again. Bilbo, dratted Hobbit, just rolled his eyes.

“When it’s not directly aimed at me, that’s a lot less intimidating. Not that you aren’t. I mean. You are. But-” And there was the fluster. Dwalin had almost been afraid the Burglar had grown accustomed to him. And he rather liked the knowledge that he frightened the Hobbit. “I mean that…” Dwalin’s brow rose as the Hobbit took a deep breath to prepare himself. “You should go talk to Nori.” What?

“What?” No, he didn’t mean to say that out loud. As a consequence, his glare intensified and Bilbo actually released a strangled sound that could have been some sort of squeak before stepping back.

Wringing his hands together, the Hobbit looked over to where Nori had now taken to stomping away from his brothers with a furious expression on his face, leaving Ori to calm down a rather incensed looking Dori. Bifur and Bofur seemed to be observing the entire thing unfold with badly concealed looks of amusement – or rather, Bofur’s was badly concealed, Bifur didn’t even attempt to hide his – while Thorin had frogmarched Fili and Kili over to Oin. “I just… he listens to you.”

Dwalin’s eyes snapped back to the Hobbit. “That’s ridiculous.” And it was. Nori listened to no one unless he felt like doing so. Obviously, right now, he didn’t want anyone to touch his arm and so it wasn’t going to happen. “He’s a thief. I’m sure he’s dealt with more grievous injuries in the past. He doesn’t need help. Mine or that of another.” And if, while he said so, he spoke a little louder than was necessary, just to see Nori stop and twitch, he would be the only one who knew.

Bilbo nodded, though he didn’t really seem to believe that. “Right… Right.” He breathed in once, then again. Flapped his arms against his torso while seemingly struck with indecision and then finally exhaled. “That’s… nonsense.” Dwalin blinked. So did Nori. Bilbo just muttered under his breath as he made his way over to Nori and dragged him out of camp. A part of Dwalin wanted to follow, to demand to know what the Hobbit was thinking, but he didn’t. And that knowledge grated on him somehow.

 

-|-l -|-

 

“What are yo- Bil- Ouch!” Nori stumbled after Bilbo, his unbroken hand held by the surprisingly strong Hobbit as the smaller of the two dragged the taller along. “Where are you going?”

Bilbo just muttered some more until he seemed to find what he had been looking for and pulled Nori over. “Sit.” If he was surprised that Nori actually sat on the offered boulder, he didn’t show it. Instead, he reached for the broken arm and, when Nori hissed and leant back, baring his teeth at him, he glared up and placed his hands on his hips. “None of that! Act like a child and I shall treat you as one. Now.” He gave the shocked thief a flick on the nose and reached for the arm again. This time, Nori let him.

“I-” He fell quiet immediately, Bilbo giving him a look that promised retribution if he resisted again. Deflating, he looked away and allowed the Hobbit to look at his arm in silence. “You shouldn’t... Dwalin and I are not friends.”

The snort he received for that made him frown at their burglar. Bilbo just gave him an unimpressed look. “I’ll need to set this. Can you handle that?” Nori wrinkled his nose and prepared a scathing comment just as Bilbo snapped the bones back into place.

“'Aish!” Hissing, Nori curled around his arm, having yanked it from Bilbo’s grasp. At least the Hobbit had the decency to look sorry for having hurt him.

When he once again allowed the Hobbit to handle his throbbing arm, Bilbo was far gentler in his touches. He vanished for a moment and Nori was left to his own thoughts and ponderings until at last Bilbo returned with some sort of thick paste. The paste was rubbed all over his arm and provided a lovely cooling effect that had the dwarf sigh blissfully. Shortly after, a straight piece of wood was fastened to his arm and the entire thing was bandaged up tightly. “For what it’s worth? I think he is your friend.”

Blinking, Nori looked up at him. “Dwalin? No. It’s… complicated.” He scratched his neck with his free hand, looking up at the leaves stretching out high above them. With some relief Bilbo saw that his usual cocky attitude was already settling back in. It was unnerving to see Nori out of sorts. “He arrested me a couple times, back in Ered Luin.” A sound of amusement passed his lips and he looked down at the Hobbit. “He was Captain of the Guard, you know?”

Bilbo shook his head, though he shrugged as he did so. “He isn’t that anymore. Just as you’re not a thief anymore. Just someone with a very specialised skillset.” He quirked his lips up and Nori couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Specialised, aye. Let’s call it that.”

 

-|-l -|-

 

Back at the camp, Bilbo looked around to see if everyone was there. Spotting Dwalin, he gave the tall dwarf a beaming smile and snickered as the already gruff expression twisted into something like disgust. Dwalin rolled his eyes and stomped off to go and talk to Thorin, who had been conferring with Gandalf in a corner. Eventually Bilbo made his way over there as well, just in time to hear Gandalf. “Anyhow, you are wasting time now. Don’t you realise that the trolls must have a cave or a hole dug somewhere near to hide from the sun in? We must look into it!” While Bilbo wasn’t too inclined to agree with him, his mother had once told him that trolls hoarded treasure similarly to dragons, only far less so. Reluctantly, he trudged along with them, only pausing to pick up an oddly shaped and large metal key. Peering around, he studied it for a while until they reached the cave. Just as he was about to throw the key away – it was useless to him if he didn’t know what it was made for, after all, and if it had been part of the farm the lock was far gone by now – Gandalf mentioned that his spells would not be able to open the door at all.

Blinking, the Hobbit looked at the key with an expression of disbelief. Really? He stepped forward and offered the key to Thorin, who simply gave him a puzzled look before trying it. To their surprise the door actually unlocked at that and Bilbo couldn’t help but snort in disbelief. “Ahum. Sorry.” Thorin’s look caused him to flush to the tips of his ears in embarrassment and he quickly ducked his head.

Gandalf led the way into the hoard, then, soon followed by a number of dwarves all curious to see what treasure might await them there. There was gold in pots and chests, as well as clothes and bones. Surprisingly enough they found edible food as well, and a barrel of ale. Especially this last bit was received with cheers and merriment as the barrel was rolled out. Gandalf and Thorin both found a sword in the hoard; Bilbo was given a short blade, almost like a dagger, that he gratefully tied to his belt before helping Bombur with the food.

They ate well that morning, having a luxurious breakfast with eggs and cheese as well as a sort of flatbread Bilbo made with the bags of flour and yeast they recovered from the hoard. Seasoned with fresh herbs and some garlic, it was a rather delicious meal and the result of it was that all of them felt the need to have a little nap at least. They barely had any sleep, after all, so the idea was well received.

The ponies were brought closer and a watch was set up to wake them at noon so that they might make a little distance at least later in the day.

 

-|-l -|-

 

Their travels continued peacefully for two more days. By then, Nori was back to his cocksure self and the so called not-friendship between himself and Dwalin resulted in many entertaining moments for the company. Bickering like an old married couple, Kili had entrusted to Bilbo quietly as both he and Fili sat in their saddles giggling. Balin just observed the entire thing with an expression that just stated that he had the patience of the Valar themselves for dealing with this, while Dori looked ready to eat his own braids.

The surprise came from Ori, Bilbo had to admit. For the last thing he expected was for the young scribe to steer his pony next to Bilbo and lean over to whisper at him. “Dori says that Dwalin hates Nori, but I don’t think he does. Nori always broke out faster when Dwalin caught him, for some reason. I think he likes him.” Bilbo had felt the blush on his face at that admission, but nodded nonetheless.

“I told Nori that Dwalin was his friend, but I don’t think he believed it.” When Ori just gave him an odd look, he blinked. “He isn’t?”

Ori quickly shook his head. “Oh, that’s not it. I just thought that- uh. Never mind.” The youth had excused himself with a stammer before spurring his pony on and walking next to Balin to discuss something he was writing. Bilbo frowned at him but shrugged, letting himself be drawn into conversation with Gloin and Oin.

When they made camp, they enjoyed the last of the flatbread Bilbo made, alongside some rabbit stew courtesy of Kili and his bow. The sky was clear, promising that the night would be chilly, but this far into spring that wasn’t too much of a concern and they all bedded down comfortably and full.

Still, when a strange brown robed man rode into their camp with a sleigh drawn by _rabbits_ of all things, everyone was up and armed in a matter of seconds.

“Radagast the Brown!” Gandalf strode over to the muttering stranger with his arms spread in welcome. The other wizard nodded and pat at Gandalf’s arm for a moment.

“Yes, yes. Oh, Gandalf… It’s so terrible, terrible! Oh, I can’t… It’s…” Gandalf simply stood there, seemingly used to the odd behaviour the other was showing. Bilbo wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, but he and the others began going about their normal morning routine of packing up and packing their things onto the ponies while Bombur prepared a quick breakfast with the left over flatbread Bilbo had made and a rabbit stew courtesy of Kili. While they ate it with pleasure, they all had to admit: Eating rabbit while being stared at by twelve giant rabbits was a rather disconcerting experience.

When the first pony reared up and snapped the rope tying her to the tree, the tension returned. When the first howl sounded on the open fields, chaos erupted. The other ponies went wild, kicking and screaming until they too were loose and Bilbo hurried to Myrtle and Thistle and untied them before murmuring into the first pony’s ear, gently stroking her neck. “Tegi ti dan. Tegi ti od amen.” With that, he released her and watched her nip the flank of Nori’s mare, herding the group away.

The brown wizard offered to lead the oncoming group of orcs and wargs away and the company accepted gladly as Gandalf led them in a crazy chase across the fields. Bilbo honestly thought that the fields were a mistake, seeing as they could hide better in the woods, but the moment Gandalf vanished from sight, he understood what was happening and felt a strange sort of excitement bubble in his gut. They were heading for Rivendell.

 

-|-l -|-

 

It was as beautiful as he recalled. The last time he had been here, it had been with two of the Dunedain, many years ago. Elrond had been kind, then, his sons radiant in their youthful joy and he had spent many hours both in the library and exploring the city of Imladris with Elladan and Elrohir. Lindir seemed surprised, but pleased to see him again, though he was more concerned with the company of dwarves and their hostile attitude. When Elrond finally arrived, they were all given an Elven welcome before Lindir brought them to the guest rooms.

Bilbo though, waved off the offering and returned to the entry gate of the city, sitting down on the stairs. He still had his pipe with him, hidden in his coat, so he busied himself with packing a pipe and lighting it.

It felt as if it had been ages that he could just _sit_ and smoke a pipe. Nowhere to go, no places to be. No pony to ride or bag to pack. He exhaled and sent a ring of smoke into the air, watching it slowly climb up and vanish from sight. It was a strangely lethargic feeling, just sitting and smoking by himself. And while he appreciated the moment of peace, he did not mind when Bofur and Bifur joined him, one on either side. They had their own pipes with them; Bifur’s a beautiful piece of art, carefully carved and lovingly polished and lacquered. Bofur’s was a cruder thing, but still the work of a master.

For a while they sat there, enjoying the last of the Longbottom Leaf they had brought from the Shire. It was a good silence, one that no one felt the need to break.

Eventually Bofur spoke. “People often think that Bifur is stupid, you know?” The usually cheerful dwarf arched a brow at the Hobbit before looking back to the narrow bridge in front of them. “They think that the axe blunted his wit. His ability to think. You don’t treat him that way. Why not?”

Bilbo thought out the question for a long time before he answered. “One of my cousins once fell from a tree. Hit his head. He couldn’t speak anything other than gibberish, but he was still the same person. No one could help him, though, so my mother came up with something else. Words didn’t work for him, so she made signs. She heard that Dwarves had something like it to help them in the noise of the smithy and so made up her own.”

Bofur stared at him for a moment before he grinned at Bifur over the Hobbit’s head. “Like _iglishmêk._ ” Bifur nodded and grinned back in a toothy fashion that showed the holes in between his teeth. After exchanging a few more words and receiving a sign from Bifur, Bofur turned back to Bilbo who had been watching the entire thing in bemusement. “So why are we sat here, really? I don’t believe that this is the easiest spot to have a smoke. Or the safest.” The last was accompanied by a pointed look towards the canyon before them.

The reply took a while to come, as Bilbo felt quite mellow and in the sort of mood he imagined Gandalf must often be in. “Ponies.” At that, he rose and motioned towards the other side of the bridge with his pipe. Hooking his thumbs behind his suspenders, he grinned at Bofur. “Our ponies.” The jaw dropping expression on Bofur’s face was so worth it, Bilbo decided as he hoped down the stairs to give Myrtle a very well deserved scratch behind the ears. The mare was uneasy and snorted wildly, though she calmed at Bilbo’s murmurs.

“But… how?” Bofur stepped up next to him, reaching up to grab the headgear on his own pony and stroke her neck.

A snort had him turn to their burglar with wide eyes. “Myrtle isn’t your everyday pony, you know?” The Hobbit seemed to be quite proud of that fact indeed, elaborating. “She was bred in Rohan and trained in Rivendell. In fact… It is where I got her last time I visited. She knew the way.” The two dwarves peered at the pony curiously but apparently having been trained by elves didn’t make her any less useful.

The lost packs had been received with cheer as a nearly weeping Ori hugged his box of pens and inks to his chest and Nori immediately began cleaning the multitude of knives he hid on his body. The others all started unpacking as well and the bedrooms they had been given were abandoned – though they did drag the mattresses out, it would be a waste to ignore those, after all. The rooms they had been offered were placed in a circle, all opening up to the same large balcony. It was here that the dwarves made their beds and built their fire. They still had food, which was a good thing because despite their warm welcome, the food the elves ate wasn’t exactly the fare that they were used to.

Bombur prepared a nice and meaty stew as Nori delivered a large number of potatoes that he had probably nicked from the kitchens. Bilbo observed it with amusement, as he highly doubted the elves didn’t know about the supposed theft, but it was rather nice to see Dwalin actually appreciate Nori for something, rather than shout at him for it. The feast lasted until the wee hours of the night; apparently Nori hadn’t been the only one ‘liberating’ elfish food. Somehow the wine flowed freely and there was definitely more food than they had brought themselves. No one minded though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the very much improvised Sindarin. Translation: "Bring them back. Bring them to us."


End file.
